


In The Punch Line

by zamwessell



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Model, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Banter, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Homophobia, Humor, M/M, Pining, School Reunion, Size Kink, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-14
Updated: 2012-01-14
Packaged: 2017-10-29 12:55:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 29,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/320112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zamwessell/pseuds/zamwessell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From the kinkmeme!<br/>Basically, Charles Xavier needs a date to his tenth high school reunion. Enter Erik Lehnsherr, Raven’s best friend, who happens to be a model and the new face of Calvin Klein.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> What up, just finished posting this on the kinkmeme! It's, I think, as cracky as it sounds.

"Why would you bring that up?" Charles Xavier, wearing a cardigan and slacks, sat blowing the foam on his cappuccino and trying to avoid eye contact with his younger sister. "I was hoping to sit the tenth one out."

"Are you kidding me?" Raven said. "Look at you! Why would you even think of not going? You have tenure, Charles. At twenty-eight. And you got the Genius Prize Thingie."

"The MacArthur probably won't mean anything to Jeff Reynolds and Karin Sluskey," Charles said, sipping the foam gingerly.

"You've got --" Raven said, pointing at her upper lip.

"Oh," Charles said, wiping the foam off. "See, I can't possibly go."

"You're going."

"They say the tenth reunion is the one where it gets too real."

"That's the whole point," Raven said. "Everyone you hated will be fat, have crappy jobs, and have weird or nonexistent sex lives."

"So I'll fit right in," Charles said. "I haven't been to the gym in weeks. It's a vicious cycle, Raven -- you stop going and then you're too ashamed to go and then it all spirals out of control. It's survival of the fittest, and once you're not fit, you can't survive."

"It's because of the groundbreaking genius research you've been doing," Raven said.

"I can't very well yell at them about the research over the sound of the cheap DJ as we wait in line for the punch," Charles said.

"Charles, you are the only member of the class of 2001 who has his shit together. You will walk in there and Jeff Reynolds and Karin Sluskey's jaws will drop, and they will go home and have to rethink their lives."

Charles was unable to suppress a small smile at the prospect. "You think so?"

"One hundred percent," Raven said.

Then Charles frowned. "I can't go without a date."

"Well," Raven said.

"It'll be junior prom all over again." Raven winced sympathetically. "And at this stage an inability to attract a mate to pass on your genetic material to the next generation suggests some sort of flaw in your works. No. Out of the question."

"Charles, you're going."

"I just said I --"

"I RSVPed for you."

"I don't have to show up. I don't have a date. I can't just walk out into the street and whistle and have dates come running from all corners like you can, Ms. Runway Model."

"Occupational hazard," Raven said.

"I just -- the whole point of going back would be to show them what a grotesque mistake it was to shove me against the locker and make me eat my diorama of mitosis right before AP Biology in ninth grade."

"In their defense, half of the diorama was edible," Raven said.

"It was actually somewhat tasty," Charles reflected. He sipped the cappuccino. "But that's not the point. The point is to inspire regret in them. And that would require the whole package."

He stared at Raven, whose mouth had dropped open.

"What if I found you a date?" Raven asked suddenly. "You said whole package, and that made me think of -- wait, wait, Charles, if I found you the hottest date imaginable, you'd go, right?"

"Well, sure, but I don't want to pretend I'm --" Charles swallowed. "Who is she?"

"He."

Charles brightened perceptibly. "Ah."

Raven was grinning. She pulled out her iPhone. "I'm going to text him right now."

Charles tried to grab the phone. "Raven, this is stupid," he said. "It's not --"

"Ah ah ah." Raven finished the message and hit send. "Let the girl work her magic."

"If he's that hot I'm sure he's wildly busy."

Then Raven's phone emitted the unmistakable ding of several texts being received in quick succession. Raven began typing back frenetically.

"What are you telling him?" Charles asked.

"I'm telling him that my adorable genius total catch of an older brother needs some arm candy for his high school reunion, and if he doesn't say yes, I will come find him and do unforgivable things to his bone structure."

"I don't think you need to resort to threats of violence," Charles began feebly.

"You're right," Raven said. "I just sent that and he's already said he's in. Congratulations, Chuckie --"

Charles glowered.

"You've got a fake boyfriend. Named Erik Lehnsherr. Who just happens to be the newest face of Calvin Klein."

Charles spat out the remainder of his cappuccino.

"Don't do that at the reunion," Raven said. "Other than that, you are SO out of their league."


	2. Chapter 2

When Erik Lehnsherr's phone began to vibrate he was knee-deep in the swimming pool of a private estate wearing a formal grey suit, in a compromising position with a seal.

He had no idea what advertising genius had thought this was the best idea for a print campaign for Calvin Klein. He thought the seal looked under the weather. Nor did it seem particularly photogenic. It had spent the better part of the afternoon emitting stricken woofles and swimming away out of the shot. But then again he was not a seal expert. Perhaps this was how seals always acted during photoshoots. Two beleaguered assistants in wetsuits were now attempting to wrangle the seal, and he climbed out of the pool into a fluffy white towel that someone was holding out and found his phone.

When he saw Raven's string of texts he began smiling in spite of himself.

"You're losing the fierce," the photographer yelled from across the pool.

"I'm taking five," Erik yelled back. "I'll get it back once you get Willy" -- that was the seal's name --"in working order." He grinned stupidly into the phone. Perhaps this day was not going to be so bad after all.

Charles Xavier needed a date? He remembered Charles instantly. Charles was not the sort of man you forgot -- at any rate, not the sort of man you forgot if you were Erik. It was not that Erik had a type exactly -- he'd dated around, but if you were five-and-a-half feet of exuberance and slow smiles and piercing blue eyes and enough intellect to populate a small city, you had a distinct advantage where he was concerned. He'd always had a thing for boys with brains. And it did not hurt that this brain happened to come in what Erik considered an adorable package.

He remembered the afternoon when Charles had accompanied Raven to one of their photoshoots for the Ralph Lauren fall line, the one where the photographer had been on Utrecht time -- that had been his excuse, at any rate, even though Erik was fairly certain he was from Brooklyn -- and had shown up approximately three hours late. Even then Erik had suspected he might be under the influence of some substance. He had spent the whole photoshoot scratching himself and murmuring about bats on the lens.

While they'd waited Raven had gone out to buy them sandwiches and he and Charles had wound up playing chess. Erik forgot who had won. He had been laughing too much. Charles had at first seemed almost startled when he'd made a literary reference and Erik had picked up on it, but then the conversation had instantly taken off. When Raven came back they were laughing about the life cycles of banana slugs. Then the photographer had arrived up rather suddenly and he had failed to ask for Charles' number.

He still had those pictures.

Charles had left before the shoot ended, muttering something about lab results. He had never thought anyone in tweed could look so entrancing walking away.

The next time he'd heard about Charles was the New York Times article announcing his MacArthur Fellowship. And then he'd been too intimidated to try to get in touch, although "intimidated" was seldom a word that described Erik Lehnsherr, who had several underwear spreads to his credit and had once had a crossword puzzle published in the New York Times, admittedly on Tuesday. Still he'd cursed inwardly when photos of the dark-haired young man peered out of the Science Times or once -- horror! -- the society pages, on the arm of a blonde chorus boy from Wicked whom he thought looked entirely vapid and several steps to the left on the evolutionary scale from Charles.

And now Charles needed a fake boyfriend. Erik grinned. He glanced companionably over at the seal and splashed it. The seal barked. The wranglers glowered at him. He was grinning again.

God bless Raven. He owed her one.


	3. Chapter 3

Charles Xavier was going to be cool about this.

He had certainly not gone to a newsstand and bought copies of all the magazines featuring Calvin Klein ads. He had certainly not begun thinking of ways he might possibly drop them around the lobby at the hotel where the reunion was being held. He did not have six of them in his bag as he walked to the train station with Raven. Certainly not.

They had arranged to meet at Penn Station for the four-hour train ride. Erik was early. Raven and Charles showed up exactly four minutes before the train was due to arrive, Charles lugging two enormous suitcases and attempting to balance a latte on top of them.

"Oh look, Charles," Raven said, pointing at a tall impeccably dressed man under the list of departures. "Your boyfriend's already here waiting for us."

"This is how those people who order Russian brides must feel," Charles said, feeling unaccountably nervous. "I don't know how I let you snooker me into this."

"Hey! Erik! Over here!" Raven yelled. Erik turned.

 _Oh God_ Charles thought. _He looks just as good in clothes. I can feel dozens of IQ points sprouting wings and migrating south. I'm just going to stand there and gape at him like a modified ape. Why didn't I prepare some intelligent remarks beforehand?_

"Don't clam up," Raven said. "You're clamming up."

"Am not," Charles said petulantly.

Erik approached them, grinning. "You remember Erik," Raven said.

"Of course," Charles said, extending a hand almost reflexively. Erik took it. His grasp was firm and he had a level blue gaze that Charles had not accounted for at all. The photo spreads of Erik lounging in black and white in mussed sheets in his underwear had not captured it at all. _And now you're thinking about him in his underwear. Splendid, Charles. Off to a great start._ "It's wonderful of you to agree to this. I hope I won't bore you too terribly."

"I doubt that's possible," Erik said.

"You're going to floor them," Raven said. "I wish I could come. You two are going to have so much fun together. You have to take a picture of Jeff when he sees you." She gave Charles a hug. "Don't look so petrified," she whispered. "You are living the fantasy of ninety percent of the population right now."

"I'm not sure that's a real statistic," Charles muttered.

"Let me get a picture of you," Raven said, whipping out her camera. Charles and Erik stood next to each other. "Put your arm around him." Charles felt the warm weight of a muscular arm settle around his shoulders. Erik smelled good -- leather and aftershave, and --

"Oh hey!" Raven said. "You're wearing matching scarves. Did you coordinate that? That's cute."

"No," Charles and Erik said, simultaneously.

"Oh well," Raven said, putting away the camera. "It's still cute." Their train was announced and Raven began walking back towards the subway. "Bye, boyfriends!" she yelled. The last word melted into giggles.

Charles stood there a moment watching her go, feeling as though the last ship back to Earth had just departed.

"I love your sister," Erik said.

"Raven's got a lot of chutzpah," Charles said. "This whole thing is her idea."

"I gathered," Erik said.

"You're wonderful to say yes," Charles said.

"My pleasure," Erik said. "Let me," and Charles found that he was only carrying the latte and that Erik had somehow managed to take charge of both suitcases with no apparent effort. For the fifth time that day he regretted not going back to the gym.

"Thank you," Charles said. "Let me at least get one --"

"What sort of boyfriend do you think I am?" Erik countered, with a grin that Charles thought in some species would be considered predatory and in others might be taken as an invitation to mate. God, he was easy to look at.

 _For God's sake, stop staring, Charles,_ he told himself. _Say something intelligent._ "So you made it here," he said. _Not that._ "I brought a lot of reading material for the train ride," he heard himself saying. "That's actually this whole suitcase. I just hate to be stranded without books."

"How long is the ride?" Erik asked, following Charles up the platform.

"Four hours."

Erik nodded. Was he actually wearing a pocket square? Good God. These four hours would be a challenge.

  
They boarded the train and sat down facing each other near a window.

"So how did we meet?" Erik asked.

"What?" Charles said. "You remember, don't you? That photoshoot when the photographer was late and we played chess and--"

"Of course I remember that," Erik said, quickly. "But I'm your boyfriend now, remember? What's our story? Are we still in the honeymoon phase? Have several years passed and you've become bored with my dwindling charms? Are we one of those obnoxious couples with matching everything who finish each other's sentences?"

Charles laughed. "Well, the scarves would suggest that we're still in something of the honeymoon phase," he said. This train ride was going to be easier than he'd thought. "Before I forget, speaking of honeymoons, we're sharing a hotel suite, but it has two beds, so there won't be any awkwardness on that score. And I'm buying all your meals. Don't try to argue. You aren't one of those models who doesn't eat, are you? Because there's a lot of good food where we're going."

"That sounds exceptional," Erik said.

"Do you need a code name?" Charles asked, suddenly.

Erik stared blankly at him. "Code name?"

"I mean if you don't want to reveal your real identity. I could refer to you as Judas, Hammer of the Maccabees, or something."

"That's what my ex used to call me," Erik said. Charles goggled at him. "Not really."

"Do you want me to call you that?"

"Only in the bedroom," Erik said. Then he laughed, quickly. "Kidding. Obviously. Er. No code name required, Professor."

"Charles, please," Charles said.

"Charles."

"All right," Charles said. "So -- honeymoon? I don't know. Are we?"

"Maybe the question is what your high school friends would find most obnoxious," Erik said.

"I wouldn't call them friends," Charles said.

"Precisely," Erik said. "What sort of relationship would be the best revenge?"

"It's not revenge," Charles said, wishing that he had remembered how exactly perfect the angles of Erik's face were before agreeing to this. "That would be wrong."

"Of course it is," Erik said. "All life after high school is a form of revenge."

"Maybe a little," Charles said.

"I vote honeymoon," Erik said. "There's nothing like a couple who seem head-over-heels to make your day grimmer when you aren't."

"I hate those people when I see them on the subway." Charles said. "I read a somewhat sensational study once that said couples of similar attractiveness levels have the best chance of reproductive success, so sometimes I try to discourage them from an evolutionary standpoint."

Erik laughed. "'Get out of the gene pool!'"

"All right. So how did we meet?"

"Do I get to pick this one?"

"It depends what you come up with."

"You rescued me from drowning."

Charles laughed. "I think we can find something with more verisimilitude."

"Chess convention."

"You didn't have to jump all the way from 60 to 0 like that."

"I think it would be funny if we met doing something horrendously nerdy," Erik said, grinning that disarming grin. "Just to unsettle their presuppositions."

"Lord of the Rings convention."

"Speed dating at a Lord of the Rings convention."

They were both laughing.

"Were we in costume?"

"You were dressed as Aragorn and I was there as Frodo."

"Wouldn't be the first time that hook-up happened," Erik muttered.

Charles began laughing. The train drew in to a station and ground to a halt and new passengers began to get on. Charles froze.

"What?" Erik asked.

"Carl Gruss," Charles said. "He's probably going to the reunion too. Oh God he's going to see us and -- I'm sitting all the way over here and the whole concept is--"

"Here," Erik said, matter-of-factly, reaching down and untying his shoes. And then Erik's feet were in his lap.

"I'm sorry?" Charles asked.

"I'm your boyfriend, Charles," Erik said, and he was grinning again. "You're giving me a foot rub."

"We haven't even established that I'm the sort of boyfriend who gives foot rubs," Charles said. _Good God, he has big feet,_ Charles thought. _Which would make sense given what was implied in those underwear ads. Goddamnit, Charles. Stop thinking about that._ His stomach began an elaborate series of somersaults.

"Charles?" Carl said, turning and coming over. "Charles Xavier?"

"Oh, hey," Charles said. Without thinking too much about what he was doing he had begun massaging Erik's sock-clad feet. "Carl. I assume we're headed in the same direction?"

"Tenth reunion, man!" Carl said. "The big 1-0!" Carl did not seem entirely sober. "1-0, baby! What is that in binary, Chucko?"

"Carl, have you met my boyfriend Erik?" Charles asked.

"Boyfriend, huh?" Carl asked. "What happened, you break up with the cardboard cutout of Carl Sagan you used to take to date events?" He held out his hand for a high-five. Erik pointedly ignored him, shooting Charles an incredulous look. Charles felt a surge of gratitude. _I couldn't have done this by myself_ he thought. _All the articles and professorships in the world don't match having someone to make eye contact with at a time like this. Especially someone whose eyes are such an entrancing blue._ He squeezed Erik's feet appreciatively. Erik was managing to look more intimidating than he thought reasonable for a man not wearing shoes.

Carl gave them an appraising once-over. He seemed unwillingly impressed. "Local boy makes good," he said. "No wonder you're coming to the reunion. Pleased to meet you, Erik."

"Likewise," Erik said, with a nod.

"I just saw June Weaver in the other car. She's fat now! Who'd have thought, right?" Carl grinned. "But she still knows how to smuggle vodka onto train cars, if you know what I mean."

"What do you mean?" Erik asked, faking a puzzled expression. Carl seemed bewildered.

"She's got vodka on the other train car," Carl said. "I mean June smuggled vodka onto the train car. Nice meeting your man, Chucko. See you on the other side." Carl teetered off down the car.

"You went to high school with him for four years?" Erik asked. "I barely met him for eight seconds and I wanted to punch him in the mouth."

"Three actually," Charles said, the corner of his mouth twisting up. "I graduated early."

"Smart move," Erik said.


	4. Chapter 4

Charles Xavier was unreasonably good at giving foot rubs.

For about the eighth time in the course of the train ride Erik told himself what a terrible idea that had been. On the one hand he felt vaguely grateful to Carl Gruss for letting him discover this. But on the other this was quickly getting out of hand. He had very nearly just made an embarrassing noise.

"Your turn," he said, finally, removing his feet from Charles' lap. Charles shot him a vaguely nervous look.

"Carl's gone," Charles said.

"It's only fair," Erik said.

"A-all right," Charles choked, removing his loafers. Erik had no idea why he'd thought this idea was any better.

"So, boyfriend, what do we fight about?" he asked, trying to take his mind off the way Charles seemed to have melted into the seat opposite the instant he'd laid hands on him. Think of it as knitting, he told himself. He'd taken up knitting in an effort to stop smoking once. It had mainly worked.

"We--" Charles actually giggled. "I'm sorry, that tickles."

"Sorry."

"I didn't mean for you to stop."

"Oh."

"We fight about -- I'm messy. I'm always leaving coffee cups about."

"And you're never on time," Erik said.

Charles grinned. "This is getting uncomfortably factual."

"I use all the hot water when I shower."

"I like Jane Austen novels."

"I can't stand Jane Austen novels."

"Why not?"

"Charlotte Bronte said they were a beautiful painting of a commonplace face."

Charles harrumphed faintly. "That misses the point," he said. "It's not meant to be an extraordinary face. That's like asking a portrait to be a landscape. All the Brontes wrote were landscapes."

"Literature buff. I thought you were a geneticist."

"I'm not only a geneticist," Charles said. "You aren't only a model."

"Being only a model would be a lot more boring than being only a geneticist," Erik said.

"Not for most models," Charles said, shooting him a quizzical look Erik found difficult to read. "I think you're fairly unique."

"What do we call each other?" Erik said, switching the subject, wishing that Charles Xavier quizzical wasn't such a perfect concatenation of wide eyes and parted soft lips.

"Erik," Charles said. "And Charles. No code names. I thought we established that."

"I mean -- are you the 'darling' type? Or is it 'dear'? Or 'pooky'?"

"It's certainly not pooky," Charles said. "That sounds like a contagious disease."

"Good."

Charles leaned back into the chair. "If you keep doing that I'm going to fall asleep," he murmured. "You're uncannily good."

"So're you."

"I appreciate your commitment to the role," Charles said.

Erik decided to push his luck. "No need to be so formal, darling."

Charles chuckled. His laugh had a wonderfully warm sound to it. "You're a better boyfriend than some of my real boyfriends," he said. "How on earth are you single? You're a phenomenal catch."

"I love your laugh," Erik said, as if that were an answer.

"I'm serious," Charles said, looking slightly puzzled.

"I'm apparently attractive to shallow men," Erik said.

"Only want the package? Not interested in the contents?" Charles said, and then Charles was _blushing_ and Erik thought _My God, this weekend is going to be torture._

"Precisely," he said. "How are you single?"

"Isn't it obvious enough?" Charles asked.

"Not from where I'm sitting," Erik said, instantly cursing himself for the hackneyed choice of words. "You're cute, you're a genius, you're funny, you give good foot rubs--"

"Shut up, dear," Charles said. "People tell me I'm enough of an egomaniac as it is without the world's most gorgeous man pumping me full of compliments."

"Hyperbole, Charles. I'm only the most gorgeous man in North America," Erik said.

Then they were both laughing. Charles yawned. He nodded off with his feet still in Erik's lap and Erik didn't move for the next two hours.


	5. Chapter 5

The first problem was when they got to the hotel room.

"Oh," Charles said, opening the slightly recalcitrant door with his electronic key card.

"What?" Erik asked, lugging their bags in.

Charles pointed at the large double bed in the center of the room, white sheets invitingly pulled back at one corner, chocolates on the pillows.

"At least there's chocolate," Erik said.

"I'll call down for a roll-away," Charles said, moving to the phone.

The second problem was that the phone did not work.

"I'll go down to the desk," Charles said.

"What if someone hears you?" Erik asked, unzipping his bag and hanging several suits in the hall closet. "So much for our factitious relationship."

Charles frowned. "Is that a word?" he asked. "I thought it was fictitious."

"I think they're both words." Erik looked over at Charles, who sat at the desk with the hotel phone tapping the Ramada Suites pen nervously on the Ramada Suites pad. "Do you have clothes for me to hang up?" he asked.

"In the big suitcase," Charles said. "They're sort of wadded up, I'm afraid. I don't quite have your sartorial standards."

Erik unzipped the suitcase and several GQs folded open to the Calvin Klein underwear spread came tumbling out. "Oh," Charles said, darting over and trying to grab them -- "I-- what are those doing -- I -- er --" Charles could feel his cheeks burning. Erik was giving him a very peculiar look. _Of course. Only one bed, a suitcase full of pictures of him in his underwear, he probably thinks you're some sort of horrible pervert who's going to jump him the instant the lights go out._

 _And now you're thinking about it._

 _Of course I'm thinking about it. Did you see his feet?_

 _Oh for God's sake, Charles. He's nice enough to go out of his way to do you a favor, God only knows why, he's lightyears out of your league, and you can't leave well enough alone._

"And here I thought you wanted me for my mind," Erik said.

"Those aren't for me," Charles sputtered lamely. "I just -- I was going to leave them in the lobby for the unsuspecting."

"Only logical," Erik said. "I'm your event arm candy, after all, aren't I?"

Charles felt that "Yes" would be the wrong answer, but he couldn't quite lay his finger on why. "Yes," he said. He became very aware that Erik was not looking at him. "Er, no," he ventured. The blue eyes snapped back to meet his and he felt something strange start dancing in the pit of his stomach. _Like that space slug must have felt after swallowing the Millennium Falcon._ "You're my boyfriend of some time who happens to be event arm candy."

"Good," Erik said. The room seemed to have been holding its breath. Now it released it. Then Erik had managed to extricate Charles' extremely rumpled suit from the suitcase and was moving to hang it up.

"That's for tonight," Charles said, reaching for it.

"If you don't iron this before you wear it I'm not going to be seen in public with you."

"I'm bad at ironing," Charles said. "Anyway I hear the rumpled look is professorial."

Erik shuddered. He found an ironing board in the closet and located an iron on the top shelf. "Thank goodness you're cute," he muttered, laying the suit pants out on the board and beginning a meticulous once-over with the iron.

Charles found that he was grinning like an idiot.

He went to the restroom and shut the door. He washed his face but the smile stayed. _It's sarcasm, Charles,_ he thought. _Don't be a lecherous moron. If you can just keep your foot out of your mouth, we ought to survive this._

"How long have we been dating?" Erik yelled.

"A year?" Charles shouted back, washing his hands.

"Just over or just under?"

"Just over."

"All right."

Charles went back out and watched Erik finish ironing the suit jacket.

"So what's the game plan this evening?" Erik asked.

"Once we get the beds sorted out," Charles said, "there's a cocktail hour in the hotel bar."

"Ah."

"Gird your loins."Erik lifted the iron and gazed contentedly at his handiwork. "Absolutely." He looked at Charles. "Well, get changed, then."

Charles picked up the suit and was heading back into the bathroom to change.

"Oh for God's sake, Charles," Erik said. "I need to wash up and it's nothing I haven't seen before."

Charles flushed. "I'll only be a minute."

"You're joking," Erik said.

Charles was assiduously trying to avoid eye contact.

"Charles, you don't actually --"

"I was hoping to be a little more, well, buff, come this reunion," Charles muttered. "In high school I was at least in shape."

"Charles, of all the asinine things I've ever heard--" Erik began.

"Fine." Charles was blushing from ear to ear. Then Charles was tugging off his pants and hopping awkwardly around with the cuff stuck over one shoe, finally rolling the pants leg up and extricating the shoe and kicking the pants off, and when he looked over at Erik the other man was having difficulty containing his mirth.

"Oh, don't pretend that's never happened to you," Charles said.

"Never." Erik stepped into the bathroom.

Charles shot him a look. As he bent over to tug on the suit pants he had the distinct sense that Erik was staring at -- _He can't possibly be. No, he is. He absolutely is._ Charles stood up slowly and with a little more fanfare than was strictly necessary, and all of a sudden Erik was intently looking at almost anything else in the hotel room. _You're embarrassing yourself,_ Charles thought. He quickly unbuttoned his shirt and tugged on another clean one, pulling the suit jacket on over it.

He settled on the bed and began flipping through the channels on the television, less from interest than from the desire to have anything to do with his hands. Cooking. Angry cooking. Some sort of informative program about sharks.

"That's better," Erik said, emerging from the bathroom.

 _Oh good God why isn't he wearing a shirt Raven I hate you Raven I'm not thinking in complete sentences Raven this was a horrible idea Raven I'm going to eviscerate you for God's sake don't take your pants off oh God aquatic life I'm very interested in aquatic life -- God it looks like he's got a nuclear warhead stuffed in his shorts -- marine life is fascinating -- this is a problem, Charles -- oh thank God, pants -- how does he look this good all the time? God bless you Raven I'm going to kill you_

"Good suit," Erik said abruptly. "Brings out your eyes."

"Raven picked it out." Charles found himself staring intently at the sharks. He felt rather like chum. "She has credit for almost all the minor successes of my life."

"What was she like in high school?" Erik asked.

"What do you think? Everyone loved her. She fit in with everyone. Nice with the nice girls. Mean with the mean girls. Meanwhile I stuck out like a sore thumb with everyone."

"No point blending in," Erik said, sitting down next to him and beginning to put on a tie. "Not when you're you."

"Even with the math team," Charles said, trying to ignore the way his stomach had just chosen to go all light and fluttery. "Who doesn't fit in on the math team, for God's sake? Everyone's welcome on the math team. Even Jimmy Melloy, and he had a neck brace and said the answer to everything was pi."

"Was he ever right?"

Charles grinned. "Twice."

"Even a stopped clock." Erik reached over and began fastening Charles' tie before he could say anything in protest. "Maybe you were too attractive for the math team," he said, deft fingers drawing the cloth through the loop.

"I assure you it wasn't that," Charles said, thinking for perhaps the eightieth time what a terrible idea this had been. "They needed me for long division but no one ever gave any indication of wanting to multiply."

Erik snorted, finishing the knot. "Or form an improper fraction?"

"Hardly."

"Pity." Erik straightened his collar. "Their loss."

"Dear," Charles said, "you're awfully kind, but stop it. Save it for downstairs." He shuddered involuntarily. "We'll need it."

On the screen, a shark was biting a struggling fish in half. "Oh look," Erik said. "There you are in tenth grade."

Charles couldn't help grinning. "Nonsense," he said. "I had far worse acne."


	6. Chapter 6

"We need another bed," Charles said, quickly and urgently, to the concierge.

"What?" the man said. Erik glanced at him. He was old with a white combover, hairy ears and thick glasses in the John Hinckley Jr. style. He leaned closer.

"We need another bed," Charles said again.

"I beg your pardon, sir, you're talking awfully fast," the concierge said.

"CHUCKO!" someone bellowed to their left. Charles glanced first at Erik and then whirled to face the newcomer. It was a tall Rubenesque woman in a bandage dress. She looked as though her dress had been painted on by someone who had not budgeted quite enough paint for the task.

"CHUCKO LOOK AT YOU! IS THAT YOUR MAN?" She sounded as though all her words were printed in block capitals. Charles took a step closer to Erik as though anticipating that she might leap at him.

"This is June Weaver," Charles said, as calmly as possible. "June, this is my boyfriend Erik."

"ERIK!" June practically screamed. She gave Charles a particularly unsubtle thumbs-up. She smelled like one of those ghastly perfumes named after pop stars. It was like a strawberry that had died of plague.

Charles had flinched another few inches away and was now pressed more closely up against Erik than Erik had planned for. Almost instinctively he slipped an arm around Charles' waist to steady him. It actually seemed to work. Charles relaxed into the touch, leaning back against Erik's chest. He smelled good, like hot tea and old books with cracked spines.

"What's that you asked?" the concierge chose this moment to yell at them. "You need more towels?"

"Yes," Erik said. "We need more towels. Thank you."

Charles turned and shot him a panicked look but Erik shook his head. "It'll be fine," he mouthed. It was too complicated a sentence to mouth and Charles seemed to have no idea what he'd said. Erik leaned closer and whispered, "Don't worry about the bed."

"The bed, huh?" June asked. For someone so drunk she seemed to have preternaturally good hearing. "You two already break the bed? Jesus Christ."

"Ah. Er. No. It's fine," Charles said.

"What was he doing, setting up a diorama on it?" June asked, jabbing Erik in the ribs. "God, what's it like dating Eggy?"

Erik could feel Charles tensing up. He found Charles' hand and latched their fingers together. "It's spectacular," he said. An old man in a newsboy cap slowly crossing the lobby on a walker chose this exact moment to bump into June. "Oh, is this your husband?"

Charles stifled a laugh. The pressure of his hand was warm and grateful and Erik barely restrained himself from stroking his thumb over Charles' knuckles. Too far, he thought. Keep it light.

"What? NO!" June bellowed. Then she leaned closer, "HEY EGGHEAD, THERE'S VODKA IN MY BRASSIERE."

"Ah," Charles said.

Suddenly without warning June staggered away. "MARLENE!" she screamed. "YOU LOOK REALLY HEALTHY FOR YOUR AGE!"

"Vodka brassiere?" Erik asked.

"I have never needed a drink more and wanted one less," Charles murmured. Erik laughed. A moment passed. Neither of them moved.

"Eggy?" Erik asked.

Charles sighed. "My nicknames are legion. Chucko. Revenge of Chuckie. Egghead. Eggy. Professor Eggsavier."

"Eggs seem to be a theme."

Charles seemed suddenly aware of how close they were still standing. "It's a long story," he muttered, taking a step away and extricating his hand. He glanced forlornly at the counter. The concierge was gone. Erik shrugged.

"Let's go to that cocktail party I've heard so much about," Erik said. Charles visibly braced himself, and Erik felt a sudden surge of protectiveness. He reached over and straightened Charles' tie. "Chin up, darling. You're worth the lot of them laid end to end."

He watched Charles swallow. "Thank heavens you're here," Charles said suddenly. "It would seem odd if I were muttering that to myself."

"Couldn't leave my boyfriend stranded at his high school reunion," Erik said, lightly, trailing a hand down Charles' shirtfront to smooth an imaginary wrinkle and thinking, Stop pushing your luck, Erik. Then his hand found Charles' again. Their fingers latched together and the smile Charles couldn't help turning on him then was impossibly entrancing. "Seems only logical," Erik heard himself saying. "Come on, dear."


	7. Chapter 7

"All right," Charles said, "what are you drinking?"

"Vodka martini," Erik said. "Shaken."

Charles pulled a face. "Good God. Who do you think you are, James Bond?"

"Don't knock them until you've tried them," Erik said.

"I tried them. That's why I'm knocking them." Charles grinned. "All right. Just be a moment, dear." He vanished into the throng around the bar and Erik stood for a moment taking stock of the room. Based on the people they had encountered thus far he had begun developing the idea that Charles had attended high school in one of the less attractive outer circles of Hell, and the group presently gathered around the vaguely art deco hotel bar did little to disabuse him of that notion. And none of them had any idea how to dress.

"Calvin Klein," a female voice said, near him. He looked in the direction of the sound. It was a fairly attractive brunette, although if not disheveled she was far from being sheveled. "You," she said, catching his eye. "You're the Calvin Klein guy."

"So it would seem," Erik said.

"What are you doing here? This is a high school reunion. Don't you have a gala you should be red carpeting at?"

Erik shook his head. "I'm here with someone," he said.

"Oh my God," she said. "Who? Who? Becky, someone won the reunion." A blonde woman in a pink dress -- evidently the aforementioned Becky -- joined her on his right flank. "Becky he says he's someone's date."

"I'm dating Charles Xavier," Erik said.

"Who?" Becky asked.

"Chucko?" Erik ventured.

"OH MY GOD NO YOU AREN'T GET OUT!" Becky and the other woman exclaimed simultaneously. "OH MY GOD! LUCKY CHUCKIE."

"We knew Chucko was gay," Becky said. "But we thought he was mostly gay for books, you know?"

"And Martin Ornstein," the brunette added.

"Yeah Martin. Oh God. Chucko had the biggest crush on him junior year. It was sad."

"That was back when Martin still thought he was straight."

"Ha," Becky said.

"He thought he was straight with you for two years," the brunette said.

"Well he wasn't very good at it," Becky huffed. "He groped me like he was adjusting a thermostat."

"Anyway he's out now. And on the prowl."

"Yeah, better keep an eye on your man," Becky said.

"Oh fat chance, Becks." The other woman chortled. "Look at this guy. Chucko would have go literally blind. Literally blind."

"We saw you in your underwear," Becky said, leaning conspiratorially towards Erik. "If you ever decide suddenly that you are, you know, into women, like, suddenly, or something--"

"Becky."

"What sometimes people get brain tumors and they have to rethink things about themselves," Becky said. "If you ever feel that, call us, and then call the brain tumor removal guy, okay? Because we are very, very single."

"Becks!"

"SUPER SINGLE."

Erik began attempting to recede from the conversation."NO STAY PUT CALVIN KLEIN," Becky yelled. "We want details."

"Details," Erik said. _Oh no._ What was taking Charles so long? Maybe he'd run into Martin Ornstein. Maybe they were reconnecting.

"Becky you're embarrassing us," the other girl said.

"No I'm not don't tell me you aren't even a little curious about Chucko's sex life. I feel like we all have a right to know. Like, it's like-- it's like a cartoon character having a sex life, you know? Like, Chucko was a big name at school. Everyone knew Chucko. We need to hear. We liked Chucko. We always liked him, didn't we? We were secretly rooting for him, even when the football team made him eat that diorama."

Erik's fight-or-flight reflex was kicking in strongly. He felt prepared to kill or maim a large animal or possibly flee to Siberia. But the situation required something infinitely more challenging.

"Spill, Calvin Klein," Becky said.

"Why does everyone at your high school insist on giving people nicknames?" Erik tried.

"Do you have any nicknames for him?"

"Oh good question!" Becky said.

Not Pooky, Erik thought. Uh. Something flattering. But sexy. But not embarrassingly detailed. But --

"Well," Erik said. He clearly looked suitably embarrassed.

"Spill," Becky said. "Or we'll make one up and say you told us."

"Like Chucko-Chokes-on-Dicko."

"Or Pooky."

Oh God. Not Pooky. Erik glanced frantically around the room. Where in God's name was Charles? What would I actually call him? Something sexy, yet respectful. "Professor Sexavier," he said, wishing that the floor would open up and he might sink into it, never to reemerge.

"Ohhhhh," Becky and Becky's friend said simultaneously. "Cute."

"Yeah, well, great meeting you."

"Is he good?" Becky said, cutting him off with an arm.

"At?"

"You know." Becky mimed an extraordinarily detailed series of activities.

"We all know how much Chucko can fit in his mouth," the brunette said.

Well, Erik thought. That is information. That is definitely information.

"We're embarrassing him," Becky said. "Look, Calvin Klein is getting all embarrassed. We were Chucko's fans, CK! You can trust us."

"He's good, isn't he?" Becky's friend said. "Once the football team made him fit four eggs in his mouth without breaking them or they wouldn't give him his lab notes back."

Four? Four? Erik swallowed. That was -- a lot -- of eggs. And an uncomfortably vivid mental image.

"Or the banana."

"Hard to forget the banana."

"Was the football team aware of how intensely Freudian this was at the time?" Erik said.

"Chucko Sucko," Becky said.

"Here you are," Charles said, emerging from the crowd with a martini and some sort of mixed drink with a straw in it.

"Professor Sexavier," the two women said in unison, grinning at each other. They giggled.

Charles shot Erik a bewildered look.

"Nice meeting you Calvin Klein! Remember the brain tumor!" Becky said, going in for a hug. Erik watched the two of them depart with his mouth hanging open in mild shock.

"Professor Sexavier?" Charles said. He looked at Erik.

"You said not Pooky," Erik said, somewhat lamely. Charles really ought not do that with his straw.

Suddenly Charles was laughing. "Better than most of my nicknames," he said. "Sexy, yet respectful."

"That's what I thought," Erik said.

"Bit punny though."

"Just a touch," Erik said. "Professor."


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: homophobic remarks

Charles froze with one hand on Erik's arm. "Oh God," he said, staring transfixed at the entrance to the hotel bar.

"What?" Erik said, looking in the direction he was indicating.

"Jeff Reynolds."

"Who?" Erik asked.

"The boss of this level," Charles said. "Captain of the football team."

"The football team," Erik said, suddenly not making eye contact.

"He made my life an absolute hell for three years," Charles said vehemently. "Put strange things in my mouth."

Erik choked. Charles began thumping him on the back. It was possible that he allowed his hand to linger longer than was necessary afterwards. "Some psychologists would have a field day with that," Erik said.

"That was of limited consolation at the time," Charles said. "Wasn't really my type. He destroyed my extra-credit bust of Gregor Mendel."

"Charles, you made a--" Erik looked strangely dazed, as though he'd just spotted a bird he thought was long extinct.

"It wasn't a very large bust."

"I have no idea how you survived high school," Erik said.

"Sheer force of will," Charles said. "I always thought to myself, Charles, this isn't Hell. It's Purgatory. You're getting out. And someday you'll make it back and you'll be someone and he'll be no one." He grinned a little ruefully. "God, it sounds a bit awful when I say it out loud like that."

"No, it doesn't." Erik was giving him a curious look that made Charles feel as though his stomach had gone skydiving and forgotten to notify him. Or perhaps it was the alcohol. He took another pensive sip of the drink, tonguing thoughtfully at the straw, and Erik suddenly wasn't looking at him.

He looked back at the entrance. "I can't see who he's with," Charles said. "He's wearing a purple suit, though, which is a good sign."

Erik winced.

"Come on," Charles said, finishing his drink. "Let's do this."

"All right." Erik finished his martini. He reached over and plucked an invisible strand of lint from Charles' lapel.

"How do I look?" Charles asked.

"You're completely perfect," Erik said. _Good God how did it take me so long to notice how completely obscene he sounds?_ For a moment their eyes met.

"Erik, you" Charles began, thinking, _If he leans in like that and says anything else my clothes are going to start unbuttoning themselves without any assistance from me at all. Is nothing wrong with this man? There has to be some sort of catch. Maybe he's involved with a strange militant separatist group that Raven neglected to mention -- Charles did you start a sentence? Don't just stand there gaping at him. You have a vocabulary. Use it!_ "Actuarial," Charles said. _What in blazes was that, Charles?_ "That's a vocabulary word," Charles said. _Stop talking._ "I have a vocabulary." _Why are you smiling like that stop smiling oh God say something that isn't "I think I'm falling for you" and isn't "Kiss me" and isn't "I wouldn't object to your taking me on the floor of this bar in front of all these people even though that would be wildly unsanitary and probably destroy the high school reunion as an institution"_ \-- "I wouldn't object to your taking me on--" _Abort abort abort abort_ "a boat -- ride -- later." _I'd like to crawl off somewhere and die quietly now, thank you, with minimal fuss._

The crowd chose this moment to perform a slightly tipsy impression of the Red Sea parting before them and they wound up face to face with Jeff Reynolds, complete in purple suit, beaming on the arm of a -- well, all right, admittedly gorgeous blonde with enormous -- well -- she looked as though she'd find backhand tennis shots somewhat difficult, to put it mildly. It was as though someone had attempted to assemble two geodesic domes inside her dress and succeeded beyond his wildest imaginings.

"Jeff," Charles said.

"Chucko!" Jeff exclaimed. _Looks alarmingly well preserved,_ Charles thought. _Admittedly whenever I imagined this he was decrepit and roughly the size of New Jersey, and he said everything in a high pitched voice because of an accident that had befallen his windpipe and -- God, I put more effort into visualizing this than I thought._ "You look great," Jeff said.

"You don't look bad yourself," Charles said, honestly. "How's life?"

"Wonderful, Chuck. Just wonderful. Sarah here is the light of my life." They nuzzled. It was, predictably, galling. "We have two gorgeous kids."

"Oh, how old?" Charles asked.

"Four and six. Adorable. John Elton and Madonna."

"Family names?" Erik asked. Charles could hear the smirk in his tone.

Sarah smiled beatifically. "No. Jeff picked them."

"Ah," Erik said.

"This is my boyfriend Erik," Charles said.

"Nice to meet you, Erik," Sarah said, extending a hand. Erik shook it. Jeff made no move to shake hands.

"I worried as much," he said. "I worried about you all those years, Chucko." Charles watched in suspended horror as he reached into his jacket and pulled out a pamphlet. He could see the word REPENT printed in block letters on the front of it. Suddenly he noticed that Erik seemed to have tensed to spring. _No,_ Charles thought. _No. We are not getting into a fight on the first night of my high school reunion. Possibly the second night. But not the first night._

"You _worried_?" Erik said, and Charles could hear the volcanic surge of menace in his tone. He tightened his grip on Erik's arm.

"Erik," he said between clenched teeth.

"Maybe this isn't the best time to proselytize, Jeff," Sarah said, in a voice that implied they'd had this argument enough times that she might be entitled to a free soda with the next one.

"I've been sober ten years thanks to the Good Book," Jeff said. "Thanks to the Good Book and to Sarah here. I thought long and hard about what I done to you."

"Did," Erik muttered, just audibly, and Charles couldn't help grinning at him. _I should not be turned on by this. By grammar. And how utterly terrifying he looks right now._

"Some of it may have been wrong, and some not so wrong, but it is nothing compared to what lurks beyond this life, after the Lord reaches down and clutches us who are without sins up into his bosom." At the word, Charles glanced over at Sarah's chest almost reflexively. "Sarah and I have already arranged for pet care in the event of the Rapture."

"Is that before or after the Lord forces people to stuff phallic objects into their mouths?" Charles asked, trying to lighten the mood.

This did not seem to help matters much."Repent, Chuck," Jeff said. "It grieves me to see you walk in sin."

Erik looked as though he were about to tear Jeff's head off with his bare hands. Charles momentarily considered allowing this to happen. It might be just what the reunion required.

"I worried about you, Chucko. I lay up late at night worrying. I used to go to the parades of the prideful unredeemed and look for you on the floats so I could spirit you away to the arms of the Most High."

Charles began laughing uncontrollably. "You went to pride parades?"

"I wore a disapproving t-shirt so that the sinners present might not mistake the nature of my errand." Jeff scowled. Charles shot Erik a look. Erik still seemed more enraged than amused. If anything he had moved closer to the edge. The arm Charles didn't have a grip on had tensed and the hand was clenched into a fist. Now Erik wasn't even looking at him. He was glowering at Jeff.

"Chuck it grieves me to see you like this, in the embrace of Satan," Jeff said, slowly shaking his head. Charles felt his grip on Erik's arm beginning to give. _This is it,_ he thought. _This is how it ends. Unless--_

"His name is Erik, actually," Charles said. Erik turned and looked at him and Charles had a moment of lunatic inspiration, pulled Erik around to face him and lifted his face towards Erik's. _Come on_ he thought, running his tongue nervously over his parted lips. _Take the bait._ For a moment Erik looked puzzled. Then his gaze flickered down to Charles' mouth and he took the bait. Enthusiastically. One arm slid around Charles' waist, pulling him in, and then Erik leaned down and kissed him.

It was not a chaste kiss. Erik’s tongue pushed past the barrier of his lips and Charles was gasping, embarrassingly hot for it, and melting into Erik’s arms a little, and the way the rhythm of Erik's breathing shifted when Charles began to push back, tongue teasing into Erik's mouth, fingers stroking along Erik's jaw, set a conflagration roaring through Charles’ whole body. He could practically taste how irate Erik was and -- God -- it was -- meltingly hot, the kiss was forceful and thirsty and obscene and a little rough, it was the way boys kissed you on the backs of motorbikes, it was dirty and magnificent and Charles was panting hoarsely against Erik's lips, sliding a hand up to tangle his fingers in Erik's hair, dimly aware that this had gone on long enough to prove any possible point, but the _sound_ Erik had just made, like he was actually desperate for it, like he had no idea how to begin to stop -- Charles could feel the flare of arousal, thought, _Kissing shouldn't be like this,_ traced his fingers down the back of Erik's neck and began trying to extricate himself, like fighting gravity --

When he finally pulled free he was flushed and panting and his mouth was hanging open and he noticed that a small crowd had assembled and that two of them had cameras. _Oh God_ he thought. _We're that couple._

Then he cleared his throat and murmured, "Dear, would you mind getting me another drink?"

Erik looked as though his memory had been wiped and no one had bothered to reboot him.

Jeff was goggling at them like a modified bullfrog.

"Certainly," Erik said. As he turned to head towards the bar his fingers traced the curve of the seat of Charles' trousers and squeezed. The grin was back, and it was twice as predatory as Charles remembered. _You did not just grab my ass in front of my entire high school class -- I should not be so turned on by that -- Raven I hate you Raven I'm going to erect a shrine in your honor and yes I recognize that that is an inopportune choice of verb grammar Charles think about grammar._

Jeff gulped noisily. He was breathing very loudly. Sarah was clutching his arm and looked a little seasick. Charles suddenly felt intensely sorry for her.

"Excuse me," Jeff said suddenly, bolting off towards the exit. Charles watched him recede. It had not quite been the battle he expected. But the field was his.


	9. Chapter 9

Charles exhaled very slowly and tried to focus on the room around him. It was rather challenging. He wondered if there were anywhere to take a cold shower. Perhaps he could go back up to the room --

The room. Oh God. The bed. The double bed.

He filed that away under things not to think about at the present. It was a large file dating back to the eighth grade that included gems like Worrisome US Demographic Trends, the inevitability of death, and the question "Is there any record of someone _objecting_ to a blowjob?" which had been bouncing insistently around his head since that afternoon.

"You're lucky," Sarah said quietly, yanking him out of his reverie.

"What?" Charles said.

"You two are clearly crazy about each other," Sarah said.

Charles swallowed. "Aren't you supposed to be giving me some sort of pamphlet?"

"That's really more Jeff's thing," Sarah said. She looked at the floor. "Unless you actually want the pamphlet." She really did have tremendous breasts. Charles worried that she might begin slowly tilting forwards if she remained stationary long.

"I think I'll pass."

Sarah smiled at him. "Jeff talks about you a lot."

"Ah."

"A lot," Sarah said again. "All the time. Constantly."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Charles said. "Is it mainly -- positive?"

"He carries a picture of you in his wallet to remind him to pray for your soul," Sarah said. She produced a wallet from her purse and Charles noticed with alarm that it held a photo of him in the tenth grade wearing a sensible blue cardigan and choking on a zuccini. The wallet contained no other pictures.

"Oh dear," Charles said.

Sarah frowned. "He's been gone a while," she said, a puzzled expression spreading slowly over her face. "I hope he didn't get lost in the men's room again."

"Lost?" Charles asked.

"It's a shame that whoever designed all men's restrooms in the world made them so challenging to navigate," Sarah said, shaking her head. "Like labyrinths. It's really awful. Sometimes it takes him a whole hour."

"What are you talking about?"

"I've never been inside one," Sarah added. "After all the things Jeff told me about the logic puzzle traps and the rotating saws, I am not sure I would ever be able to get out."

Charles stared intently at her. "You aren't joking," he said, feeling his mouth go suddenly dry.

"Once he was stuck inside one for three hours! I was so upset that I wrote to the mayor to complain about the hazard to public safety," Sarah said. "But the mayor never did anything. He just sent me back a postcard that said Thank You For Writing To The Mayor with a picture of him sitting on a tractor." She frowned. "I'm not sure he even read it, to tell you the truth."

Charles felt a bit terrible. "I think you'll find they aren't really like that," he said, as gently as he could manage.

Sarah shot him an expression of intense bewilderment, as though someone had struck her on the head with a frozen chicken. "Don't be silly, Chuck," she said. "Next you'll tell me that wearing blue cardigans and a brown wig to bed doesn't help a woman bear healthy sons."

Charles' mouth fell open and stayed that way.

"Yes!" Sarah emitted a screech of nervous laughter. It bore an eerie resemblance to a dial-up modem. "That's how Madonna came into the world."

"Oh dear," Charles said, swallowing. "Sarah, I'm dreadfully sorry, but your husband has serious problems." Sarah blinked perplexedly at him, as though he were printed in a font too small for her to read. "In fact," Charles continued, "I'd go so far as to say that he's a horrible, no-good, total hypocrite who has been making you live an idiotic lie."

"That isn't the sort of language I would expect from a man whose name Jeff sometimes whispers in his sleep," Sarah said.

"Sarah," Charles said, "I know this sounds peculiar, but why not visit the restroom with me right now? To check on him? It may explain things."

Sarah shot him a look of absolute terror. "But the logic traps," she said. "The labyrinths. I could be stuck in there forever." _Give Jeff credit at least,_ Charles thought. _He found the single most gullible mate on the planet._

"If necessary, I promise to protect you and find a way out," Charles said, trying to sound reassuring. "Please. I think it will be easier."Sarah followed him uneasily in the direction of the men's room. "I don't follow strange men to restrooms, Chuck," she said. "But I feel that I know you after hearing your name all these years. Sometimes Jeff just whispers it to me for no reason."

Charles paused for a moment at the restroom doors. Whoever designed the bar had clearly thought it would be cute to use wooden animals to indicate which restroom was which. This generally worked -- roosters and hens, bulls and cows -- but for some reason the animal chosen was cats. Charles had no idea how to tell the gender of cats. Growing up, he had owned a cat named Isaac Newton. Then Isaac had had kittens. He frowned at the doors. At random, he pushed the left one.

It was the correct door. He could see Jeff hunched over in the corner, shoulders shaking.

Jeff turned to look at him. He had evidently been crying. And, possibly -- Charles decided he didn't want to know. "Chuck?" Jeff said. His voice cracked.

 _My God,_ Charles thought. _This may well be the most pathetic thing I've ever seen._

Sarah took a step into the bathroom. "Jeff," she said, sounding a little unsteady. "Where are the logic puzzles?"

"I can explain," Jeff said.

"WHERE ARE THE ROTATING SAWS?" Sarah shrieked. "JEFF, YOU LIED!"

"Jeff lied about a lot of things," Charles said.

"WHERE IS THE LABYRINTH?" Sarah flung Jeff's wallet at the tile wall. "IS EVERYTHING A LIE? Who are you? Were those videos not a live-action adaptation of Leviticus? Are John Elton and Madonna not original names?"

Charles began inching towards the door.

"Wait! Chuck! Don't leave!" Jeff yelled. "I can explain!"

"Chuck understood what was really going on!" Sarah shouted. "Jeff, I don't even know you."

"Don't listen to him," Jeff said. "He's a sinner!" Charles kept inching towards the door.

"Oh yeah? Well at least he's got something real in his life!" Sarah screamed. "Someone he cares about! Someone he doesn't hide in the bathroom from!"

Charles successfully backed through the door, nearly running into Erik, who was lounging in the hallway holding two drinks. Charles very nearly sobbed with relief. _How is it that I've known you -- how long? and I can't think of anyone I'd rather see right now?_

"I thought you might be here," Erik said. "I didn't see you anywhere else."

"Thank you," Charles said, seizing the drink. "I needed this." He drained half of it in a single gulp. Suddenly he felt intensely tired.

"Let's get out of here," he said. _Wait. The bed. Well, fuck._

"What happened?"

Charles sighed and rubbed a temple wearily. "Are you familiar with the verb 'crysterbate'?" he asked, after a moment.

"What?" Erik said, brow furrowing. _You're even sexy when you're bewildered_ Charles thought. _You're impossible._

"Jeff definitely is," Charles said.

"Ah." Erik reached over and squeezed Charles' shoulder. "Well, I'd say we definitely won this round, dear."

Charles nodded, leaning back against Erik's chest, feeling tired and careless and a little emboldened by the liquor. "You're a godsend," he murmured, "Erik, I don't know what I would do if you weren't here. Thank you. Thank you for going along with all this. You're splendid. You're ruining me for the real world. God, if I were remotely in your league, I would never let you out of my-- " _You're babbling, Charles. Stop babbling._

Suddenly Jeff came staggering out of the bathroom with three pamphlets and part of a plumbing fixture stuffed into his mouth. He had the stricken expression of someone who had just seen a ghost and then been forced by the ghost to watch 2 Girls 1 Cup.

Sarah came barreling out after him brandishing the remnants of a sink. _How on earth did she manage to get that off the wall? I suppose Hell hath no fury--_

"Oh dear," Erik said. He wrapped an arm around Charles' shoulders. "Come on. Let's get out of here, sweetheart."

 _Sweetheart,_ Charles thought. _That's new. Oh God don't look at me like that. I should have worried more about that bed._


	10. Chapter 10

When they got back up to the room, Charles collapsed back onto the bed, shutting his eyes. "I never thought I'd say this," he murmured, "never in my wildest dreams, but poor Jeff Reynolds." He managed a weak grin. "Wait 'til I tell Raven."

Erik sat down on the other side of the bed and began removing his shoes. "It couldn't have happened to a nicer person."

"I thought I'd feel happier about it, though," Charles said. "I thought he deserved to have his life ruined for what he put me through, but -- it really is ruined, and I just feel as though I made the wrong wish, somehow." He buried his face in the pillow. His next words were muffled in the cloth. Erik thought one of them might be "real IQ" but that seemed to make limited sense in context.

"Here," he said, getting up and sitting next to Charles at the head of the bed. He reached over and stroked Charles' hair. It was as soft as it looked. Charles shivered entrancingly at the touch. Then he lifted his head from the pillow and turned to look up at Erik.

"I think you should be flattered," Erik said. "Here you were worrying about the reunion, and it turns out nearly everyone in your class secretly wanted to sleep with you."

Charles chuckled faintly. He shifted nearer on the bed and allowed Erik to pull his head into his lap. Erik carded his fingers through Charles' hair and Charles shut his eyes again and melted a little into the touch.

Erik tucked a lock of dark hair out of Charles' face behind his ear, letting his finger trace lightly over the ridge of Charles' ear, and Charles made an extremely gratifying low noise in his throat. Erik did it again, finger continuing down the line of Charles' throat, and Charles inhaled noisily and then exhaled with painstaking slowness, like dropping pennies into a glass of water.

Then Charles opened his eyes again. "They're all idiots," he said. "They always were. Martin Ornstein is the only one that wasn't, and I don't think he's even _at_ this reunion."

"If they had the sense to want you they can't be complete idiots," Erik said, deciding not to mention Martin Ornstein. He traced a thumb over Charles' forehead, along the curve of his cheek, carefully as though he were memorizing it. Charles looked up at him. His eyes were even more alarmingly blue than Erik had remembered, but there was a startled heat in the look that was new. It was like gazing at fire through stained glass. No. It was -- there weren't words for the look. It flooded his mind with uncomfortably vivid images -- he wanted to see that look again with Charles naked and pinioned between his thighs, with Charles kneeling over him in mussed sheets-- That was the proper place for eyes like that. The heat that began to sear into his groin made him realize that having Charles' head in his lap was about to be a liability. He slid a hand under Charles' neck and cupped the back of his head. That would have to do as a buffer.

"I'm sorry," Charles said. "Erik you don't need to do this." His voice sounded a little rough. "It's marvelous, but you don't--"

"Shhh," Erik said, grinning, and pressed a finger to his lips. Touching Charles' lips made him remember what kissing him was like, the way that soft mouth both yielded and demanded his, the warmth of Charles in his arms, the little gasp that had escaped his lips when their mouths came together. It was possibly the hottest sound he'd ever heard, hotter because he felt certain Charles hadn't meant for him to hear it. He wanted to kiss Charles again more than anything. No. Not only that. If he had to hear one more time from a random classmate around the bar the things that Charles' mouth was capable of, he thought he was going to strangle something. It was torture. He found that he was absentmindedly tracing a caress on Charles' lips.

Charles sat up a bit awkwardly. "I'm going to take a shower," he said. Erik noticed that he was a little flushed. "Ah. Well. That is your area of the bed. If you want to go to sleep, that is certainly -- You have been immensely--"

"Charles," Erik said.

Charles didn't meet his eyes. He shifted uncomfortably and Erik noticed the sudden feigned casualness with which he had draped both hands over his lap.

Oh. Well.

Then Charles was up and darting into the bathroom.

 _Oh God,_ Charles thought, slamming the bathroom door. _If I'd pitched a more obvious tent Boy Scouts would have shown up demanding badges. Eugh. No. That is the kind of stupid analogy you come up with when ninety-eight percent of your blood has migrated out of the brain. I need the coldest shower in human history._ He tore off the remainder of his suit and turned the water on as cold and as loud as possible, gritting his teeth as he stepped in.

 _Why is he doing this why is he I'm not even in the same phylum for crying out loud, well, I mean, I am, technically, speaking as a scientist but -- he would never really touch me like that -- oh God this is unbearable._ He wrapped a hand around himself and let out a choking half-breath. Just being nice, Charles. _Oh God._ Just keeping up the charade. _God you have no idea how much I want to tear those impeccably tailored trousers down and see if all those years of having things shoved in my mouth might have been worth something after all._ He leaned back against the shower wall and heard from the strangers' hotel room next door the sounds of what could have been either a cycle of laundry with cats in it or peculiarly enthusiastic lovemaking, also possibly with cats. Cats seemed to be becoming a theme.

 _Keep quiet, Charles, thin walls_ Charles thought, but the imagined images throbbed beneath the surface of his mind _your hands on me those enormous hands touching me everywhere my mouth on you you in me that sound you made when we kissed--_ He threw his head back against the wall of the shower and bit down, hard, on his lower lip to stifle a grunt. _If he hears you getting off in here like this, Charles -- just from him stroking your hair and saying nice things, just from him, just from everything, tomorrow's going to be impossible_. He sighed, tried to see if there were some way to turn the water louder. _The way you look at me sometimes is entirely unfair,_ he thought. _"You're clearly crazy about each other." "At least he has something real in his life. Someone he cares about. Someone he doesn't hide in the bathroom from."_ Charles emitted a grim little laugh. _That's the worst part of it. The only thing that anyone cares about is the thing that I don't really have. That's cruel. That's the sort of thing those Greek dramatist types would have gotten off on. Forget the job. Forget the degree. Forget the awards. No one cares. Even I barely care. It's him. It's all him. Or is it 'he'? He'd probably know._

 _God, if I had him, I'd forget the rest of it too. If I had him to look at me like that and laugh at my math jokes, for Christ's sake, and iron my fucking pants-- if I had him if he came in now and shoved me up against the wall of the shower and --_ Charles let out an embarrassingly noisy half-moan and shoved his fist against his mouth in an effort to keep silent _\--kissed me obscene and hot like the way he kissed me tonight, to show everyone I belonged to him and he wanted me in the worst way, kissed me again like that in the shower his mouth on me everywhere his fingers in me his fingers on my hips every inch of that in me, thrusting in deeper, making me gasp out his name_ \-- Charles sucked a finger into his mouth and then slid it into himself, writhing back against the touch. "Oh God-- Erik--" Charles shuddered and came, wrenchingly, hitting the wall of the shower. He turned off the water and leaned back against the wall, head falling back and eyes shutting.

Then he became aware that the door to the bathroom was open. Erik was standing in it looking unable to form a complete sentence. "I'm sorry, Charles," he breathed, "I didn't mean to intrude, but -- that was one of the sexiest things I have ever seen."Charles climbed slowly out of the shower, pushing back the sliding glass door, and trying to decide whether or not to grab a towel.

"Come here," Erik said. Their eyes met. The look was like a hand unfolding. _He wants me_ Charles thought, and his pulse began to race. _He wants me. He wants me_ Then he had taken two steps into Erik's arms and their mouths came together. Erik's tongue was plundering his mouth, and if kissing Erik before had been good it was nothing compared to kissing Erik when you were naked in his arms and his hands were all over, warm and dry and -- possessive was the only word that sprang to mind -- and as Erik's hands slid up his thighs to cup his ass Charles let out an involuntary moan into Erik's mouth and then pulled back a little and muttered, a little mortified, into Erik's neck, "I know I'm not quite up to -- what you're used to, but the research was in a critical phase and --"

"Charles," Erik said, sounding almost irritated, pulling his face up so Charles had to look at him. "You have a perfect ass." His fingers kneaded the supple flesh and Charles made an intensely embarrassing noise, feeling himself harden against Erik's chest, breaths coming loud and uneven. Erik shot him a look that was like a jolt of molten metal to the pit of his stomach.

Charles swallowed. Erik's shirtfront was wet now; the embrace had left a spreading damp impression all along the front of Erik's clothes. "I ought to have grabbed a towel," he said. "That suit is probably worth more than my --"

Erik bent down and hissed, "Fuck the suit," in his ear, and then Erik's tongue traced the ridge of his ear and he was gasping, a sudden hot flare of arousal stirring in the pit of his stomach, and then Erik half-kissed, half-bit him on the earlobe and he actually moaned, unable to stifle it.

"You're _beautiful,_ " Erik said, and the way his voice warmed around the word and the insistent way his eyes widened when he said it made Charles want to believe him. Erik bent and kissed his neck and he couldn't help the way his head fell back and his neck arched a little, the way his whole body was beginning to ignite again at the touch. _He wants me he's touching me he wants to touch me_ "You're perfect, Charles," Erik said. "Has no one told you that?"

 _Never_ he thought. _Never the way you say it. But you could say anything and do this to me. You could say 'succotash' or 'lugnuts' if you looked at me like that when you said it and I'd still believe you thought I was beautiful-- oh God beautiful he thinks I'm -- no one's ever_ "No," he said. "Only that -- I was good at fitting objects in my mouth." _Oddly that describes my dating life as well. Sure can pick them, Charles._

The look Erik turned on him tossed a hand-grenade into his capacity for coherent thought. And he could feel a definite straining in Erik's pants. "Charles," Erik gasped, and then Erik was pushing them through the bathroom door into the bedroom and a moment or two later he was spread back on the bed, panting, damp hair mussed on the pillow.

"God," Erik said, kneeling over him. Erik was flushed and his pupils looked huge, and under ordinary circumstances Charles would have thought something along the lines of _Ah excellent, a sign of stimulation in mammals_ but all the useful scientific terms had fled south for the winter and he reached up to pull Erik's head down for a kiss. _You_ he thought.

"You've been driving me insane," Erik said, "since this started, you have no idea, do you?" He kissed Charles on the neck again, mouth dragging slowly down the line of Charles' throat, and Charles emitted a pathetic desperate little grunt, neck arching, and Erik murmured, "You have no idea how hot you are, Charles. The sounds you make. If you keep on like that I'm going to come just like this-- just touching you--" His mouth began a slow pilgrimage down Charles' chest. He seized one of Charles' nipples between his teeth, biting down, and Charles bucked up against him, panting, insanely turned on.

"No," Charles gasped, suddenly bold, "I want you in my mouth."" _Fuck_ , Charles," Erik muttered, voice impossibly rough, and then Charles had grasped his shirt by the lapels and was attempting to tear it off.

The shirt put up more resistance than expected. Charles had been led to believe by occasionally glancing at books in the check-out aisle that shirts tended to rip off without much provocation, and this one disappointingly failed to comply. It was well-constructed, from solid material and stolidly resisted all his efforts to tear it off, but Erik's eyes on him as he attempted were full of amusement and arousal and made him curiously glad he'd tried. He sat up, pushing Erik back onto the bed, and began undoing the buttons, pressing slow kisses into the exposed skin, peeling the cloth back hungrily and running his tongue over the defined muscles of Erik's chest and pulling Erik's nipple into his mouth and tonguing at it, and Erik was actually melting under the touch, his gaze searing and hot, and then Charles had made it to the last button and Erik's long careful fingers were practically ripping his belt off and his pants down, and then --

Suddenly Charles remembered what Raven had said at the train station about living the fantasy of ninety percent of the population, and he almost laughed. _Here I am,_ he thought _I'm actually -- Erik Lehnsherr is lying in a mess of blankets on a bed in his underwear, for crying out loud, but it's infinitely better than those ads because of that sound he's making and the melting secret look he's giving me, although these are the same shorts as the commercial --_

"Truth in advertising," he muttered, fingers hooking in the elastic of the waistband, feeling his pulse begin racing, eyes widening, thinking _Oh for God's sake, Charles, try not to look so much like a child on Christmas morning -- stop -- you're practically salivating, Charles, it's mortifying--_ He ran his tongue nervously over his lips and Erik made a faint keening sound in the back of his throat.

"Charles, you're going to kill me," he muttered.

Then Charles grinned and tugged the shorts off and --

 _Oh._

 _Oh my God._

 _And that's circumcised._

" _Erik_ ," Charles couldn't help murmuring, eyes wide and entranced, and Erik reached up and threaded a hand through his hair and grinned up at him. "Like what you see, Charles?"By way of answer Charles began to plant a slow line of kisses down Erik's stomach, teasing his mouth down towards the base of that glorious monstrosity, _stop thinking, Charles_ and then he looked conspiratorially up at Erik and exhaled warmth over the head and Erik actually _whimpered_ and then he licked a thoughtful line up Erik's length and Erik grunted, "Charles, for God's sake," and then he'd taken him in his mouth, and the sound Erik made then was the most arousing thing he'd ever heard. He slid his mouth carefully up Erik's length, choking a little, and Erik gasped, "God Charles I wish you could see yourself -- fuck --" and Charles had taken more in, beginning to stroke with one hand the part his mouth couldn't yet reach, and Erik was making a beautiful inarticulate sound that he thought might be his name. Erik tasted good -- warm and thick and vaguely salty and -- filling and he made an appreciative sound and then Erik's fingers had found his hair and clenched in it, and he grunted a little with satisfaction as he reached the base, the head of Erik's cock hitting the back of his throat, and Erik glanced down at him with lust-dark eyes as though he were some sort of private miracle, and murmured unintelligibly something that sounded like "GodCharles sexiest thing I've ever seen in my life -- fucking God" and it send something hot curling along the base of his stomach, he traced an illegible caress along Erik's chest and then began establishing a rhythm, sucking, careful, feeling the way Erik's hips would jerk like someone searching for the next note in a piece of remembered music, stroking a hand along the shaft, tracing an obscene caress along the head with his tongue, and Erik was lost in it, Erik was gasping and making utterly obscene sounds, and that he could do this to him, that Erik was melting like that under him and choking out his name, was making him impossibly hard, it was too much, he began rutting against the sheets as he sucked, and when he slid his mouth all the way up, Erik's fingers tugging a warning into his hair, Erik murmuring, "Going to -- fuck, Charles" he didn't pull back, felt the hot salty rush of Erik's seed filling his throat, swallowed and choked a little, leaving an obscene trail down his chin, and when Erik slowly and bonelessly sat up, reached down, and wiped it with his thumb, Charles gasped and came, soiling the sheets.

  
Erik pulled him into an embrace and their mouths came together, lazy and searching and delightful, and Charles asked, "Like the way you taste?" and Erik said, "I know you do," tracing his fingers along the ridge of Charles' hip.

Then Erik pulled the covers aside, settling under the blankets, tugged Charles into his arms, and planted a kiss on the back of his neck.

"All of high school," Charles mumbled sleepily. "Just training. All for you."

"Mm?" Erik said, reaching over and turning off the light.

"Never mind it's one of those stupid post-coital remarks," Charles said.

"I look forward to all your stupid post-coital remarks," Erik said, lips brushing his ear, and Charles thought _This can't be real. This can't. This is the most horrible nightmare of my life, surely, because I know eventually I'll have to wake up._

"Good night, love," Erik said, and -- _that can't be the right word, that's just something people say after I've done that, it's actually a remarked phenomenon_ Charles pulled both his arms around him and settled back against him, sticky and mussed and not caring at all, and even though he'd meant to be concerned about it was asleep in moments.


	11. Chapter 11

When Erik woke up he was for a moment uncertain where he was or what he was doing but had a curious feeling of being at home. Then he glanced over and noticed Charles, who shifted and murmured something in his sleep.

Erik smiled. Not a bad sight to wake up to.

He reached over and pushed some of Charles' mussed brown hair out of his face. God. That was the sort of thing Erik wanted to find in bed every morning. Charles Xavier, dark hair tousled, asleep, naked, a contented-looking half-smile playing over his lips.

Charles' eyes flickered open and Erik thought, This. Everything about this is right. I want this. I want to see this every day. I want to memorize the bewildered delighted look on Charles Xavier's face when he wakes up. I want to see this when he calls me. He fumbled on the bedside table for his phone and managed to take a picture and Charles frowned bemusedly and tried to swat the phone out of his hand.

"What -- Erik -- what -- morning," he mumbled.

Then Erik noticed that his phone was flashing. There was a succession of messages, including a text from Raven succinctly implying that if he were toying with her brother's affections she would come over and emasculate him, and two missed calls from his manager, including a text that read: "URGENT: WILLY IS DEAD."

"Willy is dead?" Charles asked, sitting up and squinting at the phone.

How on earth, Erik thought, as Charles propped his chin on his shoulder to peer at the phone, was there so much that I didn't know I needed to happen every morning?

"Willy's a seal," Erik said. "We worked together once. I don't know why it's urgent."

"Perhaps he listed you as emergency contact," Charles said. "Or you're his designated executor."

Erik laughed. "I'll be stuck finding the bagpiper to play Columbia, Gem Of The Ocean at the funeral."

"Bagpipes." Charles shuddered. "There's a reason they only play to the dead, you know. Because the living object."

"I think it's poignant," Erik said.

Charles harrumphed faintly and settled back in the sheets. Erik let the phone fall to the floor.

"I like the way you look in the morning," he murmured, climbing back under the covers and slipping both arms around Charles' waist.

Charles glanced over his shoulder at him. "The same for you goes without saying," he murmured. "If I'd known this was on the menu of ways to wake up, I'd have been ordering it for years."

Erik kissed the nape of his neck. Charles melted entrancingly into the touch and then turned over and glanced sleepily at him and lifted his face almost nervously for a kiss, and kissing Charles in the morning was delightful, Charles seemed still a little astounded that this was permitted but in spite of the startled wonder kindling in his eyes he was slow and thorough and had the air of someone who wanted to demonstrate his mastery of the subject.

"What are we doing today, dear?" Erik asked.

"We're eating," Charles said, matter-of-factly. "Then there's the big evening of what is billed as entirely unmissable drinks and dancing -- if you can bear to spend another moment with those people, which I can forgive you for not doing."

"Why I'm here," Erik said.

"Yes, I suppose it is," Charles said. He stretched lazily and rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. "What were you like in high school?"

"Solitary," Erik said. "Poor. Nasty. Brutal. Short."

Charles shot him a look that belonged on top of a cake.

"It's actually fairly accurate," Erik went on, "although it makes me sound like Thomas Hobbes' muse--"

Then Charles had reached over and seized his face in both hands and was devouring his mouth, kissing him soundly, tonguing him hot and forceful, so that he was suddenly short of breath and incredibly aroused.

"What was that for?"

"I always want to do that when you say things," Charles said.

He looked as though he were thinking of saying something else. Instead he leaned nearer and kissed Erik again, appreciative and soft and mouth a little yielding, and Erik pulled back and looked at him and almost said something else and didn't either.

"High school," he muttered. "State of nature. Although," He propped himself up on an elbow and began tracing a slow line down Charles' chest with one finger. "I think, in a strange way, you may have been the most popular guy in your whole high school class, Chucko Eggsavier."

Charles laughed.

"Certainly in terms of name recognition," Erik added. "Eggy."

Charles' laugh broke over him in a series of rippling waves.

“Why all the eggs?” Erik asked, tracing another careful line over Charles' collarbone, noting the gratifying flush that sprang to Charles' cheeks. "Was it only the football team incident?"

“Well, that, and," Charles swallowed. "During our sophomore year class retreat, someone thought it would be amusing to shave my head as I slept. Hence, eggs.”

Erik looked aghast at him. “That’s actually a crime,” he muttered. “You have magnificent hair.” The urge to run his fingers through Charles’ hair, never weak, was suddenly overwhelming. He reached over and smoothed a lock of hair behind Charles’ ear. The way Charles leaned into the touch made him want to do it again. He did it again. Then he tangled a whole hand in Charles’ hair.

“It wasn’t so bad,” Charles said. His breathing shifted a little. “I’ve been told I have a very regularly shaped cranium, which is always a relief in case I go bald. At any rate I survived,” Charles said. “Here I am. Here we are.” He appeared to be babbling. “You have distractingly good hair yourself. Must be what draws seals to you."

Erik grinned at him. “Thought you hadn’t noticed.”

“Of course I noticed. God you’re good at that.”

“The head’s very sensitive.”

“Stop that,” Charles said. "Or we won't make it out of bed."

"That was the idea."

Then Erik's phone began to ring. He cursed silently.

"Willy?" Charles asked.

Erik reached over him and glanced at the screen. "My manager again."

"You should answer it."

"I should ignore it."

"I don't mind," Charles said.

"I'm not the sort of boyfriend who takes calls from my manager in bed," Erik said.

"Erik, I'm a grown-up," Charles said. "Get it. Willy's spirit may be in dire need."

Erik took the call. His end of the conversation consisted mainly of "Yes" and "I'm aware of that" and "I didn't realize I was contractually obligated to do that," and "Then tell them no." His face didn't fall, exactly, so much as it _hardened_ , mouth setting itself into a tight line and his brow furrowing.

Charles shot him a worried look.

After Erik hung up he sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Fly in the ointment, Charles."

"Yes I figured there might be," Charles said.


	12. Chapter 12

"Of course, it makes perfect sense," Charles was saying to Raven. He had the sense that Raven had been holding the phone away from her ear for the vast majority of the conversation, periodically saying, "Yeah," "Uh huh," and "Breathe, Charles." He was not certain that he would not have done the same had he been in her place. He had been rambling rather a while.

"Yes, Charles," Raven said. "Makes perfect sense."

"That's what I said," Charles said. "That's what I thought. Fuck PETA."

"What?" Raven said.

"I told you, Raven," Charles said, with exaggerated patience. "They got wind of Willy's death."

"Willy?"

"The seal. Erik's seal friend. They heard from an inside source that the circumstances of his death were mildly suspicious , or -- ah -- the hostile work environment, you know, did a number on his self-esteem, or something -- so they have to redo the shoot in a way that shows Calvin Klein is respectful to seals and deems them a gem of the ecosystem --"

"Oof," Raven said.

"The new shoot is supposed to be a celebration of the seal," Charles said. "The seal as an institution."

"Based on my experience, that will take at least all day," Raven said matter-of-factly. "Unless your boyfriend is some sort of superhuman."

"He's not my _boyfriend_ ," Charles said. "He's my 'boyfriend.' Listen to the subtle variation in inflection."

"Really?" Raven asked. "That wasn't the impression I was getting."

"That's what I've been saying!" Charles exclaimed. "It made sense! I mean I did what a real -- what I really would have done in the like circumstances, of course forgetting that he's only on board for this weekend and now I've just sent him away and so goodbye to _all that_. And I don't have a date again. Back to square one. Cheers."

"Cheers?" Raven asked.

It was a non-negligible possibility that Charles had spent the afternoon after lunch at the hotel bar ordering rounds of drinks for himself and its only other occupants, a bedraggled homeless-looking Gandalf and a man with dyed hair in a neck brace that he thought might be Jimmy Melloy but didn't want to ask in case he was right. It had seemed like a good idea at the time.

"Charles, he really likes you," Raven said.

"A lot of good that does me at present."

"I mean _really_ likes you."

"I really like him," Charles said, sighing. "For God's sake, Raven, I don't just go around enthusiastically _fellating_ people I don't _like_."

"Charles," Raven said, "are you drunk?"

"I mean not at _random_ ," Charles said. "Not enthusiastically. I don't do the -- thingie." He made an extremely suggestive gesture into the phone.

"Wow. I'm going to go boil my memory now, okay? And we are going to pretend that I didn't hear that, and I am so glad I can't see whatever you're doing right now, and you are going to pass this phone to whomever is serving you drinks --"

"To _whoever_ is serving me drinks," Charles said. "Look within the clause."

"SOMEONE NEEDS TO CUT MY BROTHER OFF!" Raven yelled into the phone.

"Thank you for that, Raven, I'm hanging up on you now."

Charles hung up and frowned over the bar. "I really don't," he said, to no one in particular. "I don't--" He began miming something oddly specific with his left hand and then thought better of it. Gandalf appeared to be attempting to avoid eye contact. "You should have seen it though," he said. "Like a wizard's walking stick. One could play golf with that thing. One wants to send postcards of it one's relatives. It's -- practically a geographical landmark."

Gandalf seemed to be scooting away. Charles caught him by the dingy sleeve. "Ancient civilizations," he leaned over and whispered, "could have used its shadow to tell time."

The bar phone started to ring. The bartender answer and Charles thought he heard Raven's voice on the other end.

"If anyone is telling you to stop serving me drinks, she is mendacious," he yelled. His barstool picked this moment to slide mysteriously out from under him.

"Maybe you should go lie down," the man in the neck brace said.

 _There was something I was meaning to ask him,_ Charles thought. "Tell me you aren't Jimmy Melloy," Charles said.

"Jimmy Melloy?"

"Pi!" Charles yelled. His interlocutor looked pained. "Pi!" Charles said again, louder. Then he paled. "Oh God, Jimmy," he said. "I'm doing to you what everyone's been doing to me, aren't I?" He sank forlornly in the direction of what had been his stool. It was not there. He continued sinking slowly towards the floor. "Have I become a monster, Jimmy Melloy?"

"I'm not sure I know you," the man in the neck brace said. He appeared to be inching away very slowly. Then again everything in the bar appeared to be inching away very slowly.

"Maybe you should go recharge those batteries," Evidently Not Jimmy Melloy said.

"Batteries?" Charles asked, looking intensely puzzled. _This was a good idea,_ he thought. _I feel relaxed. Tonight will be fine._

"You look a little sick," three or four men in neck braces sitting at the bar said.

"I think I shall retire," Charles mumbled, getting up. It seemed odd that they would just turn this into a rotating restaurant without informing anyone. His phone buzzed once. Erik. "I just got back to my phone and found three pictures of lighthouses, the Washington Monument, one sundial, a lightsaber, and one text consisting entirely of urgent-sounding consonants," the message read. "Care to explain?" It was difficult to infer inflection from texts but this one seemed to have a smirk in it.

"I do not have a drinking problem," Charles spelled out with one thumb. The message swum around the screen and he decided it might not be quite what the situation required. He deleted it.

"Go take a nap, buddy," the bartender suggested.

 _You're embarrassing yourself, Charles,_ Charles thought. He poured himself very carefully into the up elevator.

"I don't need a date," he said, confidentially, to his reflection in the brass of the elevator. "Charles Xavier is an accomplished individual in his own right and a scintillating conversationalist of unparalleled insight who is fine without a date. Tonight will be a breeze."

He smiled winningly at himself. _An absolute breeze._ The doors of the elevator opened again on the lobby. It seemed that he had not selected a floor.

Charles pushed all thirty buttons. _A breeze._


	13. Chapter 13

When he came downstairs after a nap, Charles felt better.

Before nodding off, he'd found one of Erik's socks near the foot of the bed. The bed was still vaguely redolent of sex. He wondered if all hotel beds always smelled like that and he'd only just noticed. The discovery left him peculiarly elated. He grinned into the mirror as he adjusted his tie. Erik had left all his things -- there was his toothbrush and something he clearly put into his hair and his cologne -- and the thought _This looks like our bathroom would look_ began a curiously triumphal march around the back of his mind.

The dancing was in a large ballroom on the first floor. The only theme Charles could spot in all the decor seemed to be Garish Things Made of Plastic That Lack A Common Thread. Someone had rolled in faux marble columns and couple of synthetic palm trees, and in one corner a dyspeptic plastic flamingo appeared to be trying to bury its head in the sand, possibly to avoid being captured in any photographs of the set-up.

"I'm sorry, my friend, but that's for ostriches," Charles murmured to it sagely, thinking, _All right, that's it, you're cut off._

In the other corner, if you squinted, you could make out what appeared to be a plastic replica of the moon landing, an inflatable castle that seemed to be a refugee from a child's birthday party, and a slowly melting ice sculpture that was, oddly, only the third most phallic item Charles had laid eyes on in the past twenty-four hours.

But the decor was only barely discernible; some wise organizer had decided that making it almost impossible to see might add a certain ambiance and certainly could not make people think less of the decorations. Charles was disinclined to argue. On one wall, over the CLASS OF 2001 REUNION banner, a slide show of their class pictures was being projected, to the accompaniment of a techno remix of Pomp and Circumstance. It was surreal. He had failed to send in a picture and so the screen displayed "Charles "Chucko" Xavier, RIP" whenever his turn came around.

He glanced at his phone for the first time in several hours and noticed that Erik's most recent text was "Miraculously, en route now! (Touch wood) Wait for me?"

Charles typed "All my life," then, after a moment, deleted it, typed, "swap those last two clauses," then flushed a little and deleted that, then typed, "Sure," deleted that, frowned, typed, "If you are not too long, I will wait here for you all my life, to quote Oscar Wilde" when someone next to him in the punch line jostled him with an elbow and said, "Chucko, just send the damn text already."

He deleted the attribution, hit send, and turned around. It was a blonde man of middling height, in glasses. He was the sort of man who would look like Daniel Craig after another two beers.

"Martin?" Charles asked, swallowing a little. "Martin Ornstein?"

The man nodded enthusiastically. "Charles Xavier!" he said. "Aren't you a sight for sore eyes! You here by yourself?"

Charles adjusted his sleeves. "I am -- here-- by myself -- _now,_ " he said, slowly, wishing he had something to drink. He felt suddenly all hands. "I mean at present," he added, he thought, helpfully. "Although you're here, obviously." Someone passed them with a tray of canapes and he nearly mauled her in an effort to give himself something to do besides talk. He shoved three of them in his mouth at once, spilling clam sauce on his chin. Martin reached out a napkin.

"You've got a--" he said, miming.

"Eh?"

"Us dateless wonders have to look out for each other," Martin said, reaching the napkin to dab at Charles' face. Charles intercepted the napkin and wiped his chin. The gesture had rekindled vivid memories from the past night. _Erik's thumb wiping a caress along the line of his chin, Erik's eyes on him, their commingling of lust and amazement_. Something danced along his spine at the recollection.

"You got it." Martin smiled. "You look as though life has been treating you well, Mr. MacArthur. Congrats on that, by the way. I've been following you in the papers."

Charles flushed.

  
They made it to the punch bowl and he helped himself to a fairly hefty ladleful. "You seem to be doing well yourself," he said. He had no idea what Martin had been doing, but compared to anyone else he'd run into the external signs were promising. No lupus. Not visibly intoxicated. Still had thumbs. _High bar, Charles._

Martin nodded. "Can't complain," he said, pouring himself some punch. He took a sip and squinted at Charles. They wandered over to the edge of the ballroom by a window. On the dance floor, several of Charles' classmates were gyrating wildly. June Weaver was either dancing or needed to be exorcised later. Perhaps some combination of the two.

Martin said something inaudible. Charles nodded in what he hoped was a pleasant and understanding manner.

"Hey, it's been ages," Martin said, leaning nearer. He seemed a little nervous, like someone trying to ask for jam in a foreign language who has been told that the phrase "I'd like some jam" is nearly indistinguishable from an unforgivable insult punishable only by death. "You want to -- I can hardly hear myself think in here."

"What?" Charles yelled.

"I said, you want to go outside?"

"WANT WHAT?" Charles yelled back.

"I WANT TO CATCH UP!" Martin yelled. "OUTSIDE!"

Charles shrugged. People had begun to stare at them. "A- all right," he said. Another hors d'oeuvres tray passed and he swiped several pigs in inadequate blankets and shoveled them into his mouth.

Martin shot him a bemused look.

  
They wound up on a set of deck chairs near the hotel pool. Charles took another sip of his punch.

"What have you been up to?" Charles asked.

"Oh, this and that," Martin said. "Working on a book. Although I've been theoretically working on the book for the past several years. But it's getting close now. The law firm's kept me busy, though. Just made partner, actually."

"Martin, that's fantastic," Charles said. "Congratulations."

Martin smiled and made one of those carefully rehearsed "aw-shucks" gestures generally reserved for the pause after you've told the story in which you rescued a child prodigy and six kittens from a burning building single-handedly, armed only with your Summa Cum Laude degree from Harvard.

"All the credit goes to our debate team days," Martin said. "Couldn't string words together until I met you." He stared down at his punch again.

"Don't be ridiculous," Charles said. "You were always good."

Martin seemed inordinately pleased by the remark. Charles drank some more punch. Silence ensued. Some sort of motor in the pool began whirring and they both laughed.

"I was a real dick to you in high school," Martin said, suddenly.

Charles swallowed. "Nonsense," he said.

"Yes I was. I -- I'm different now, Chuck. Remember when you said you -- y'know, thought you might have a thing-- for me--"

Charles remembered it vividly. It was after debate club. They had gotten Italian ices. He had told Martin his feelings, without once consulting the carefully written notes he'd been crafting over the past month and a half, feeling as though his tongue had gotten too large for his mouth, scuffing a sneaker along the sidewalk. After he finished Martin had stared at him aghast for about a minute. Charles had the momentary and strange hope that there would be an opportunity for him to offer a rebuttal. Instead Martin had started laughing. "No dice, Chucko Sucko."

Charles finished his Italian ice alone. He watched Martin walk away towards a clump of their classmates and begin talking and pointing in his direction. Martin had left his Italian ice. Feeling slightly vindictive, Charles had eaten that as well. But it had been mostly melted and he hadn't felt much better.

\--

  
Erik sat in the back seat of the limo drumming his fingers on the leather.

"Perhaps you could drive faster," he suggested for the sixth or seventh time.

"You want us to get pulled over?" the driver asked. He seemed unduly scrupulous about the speed limit. He struck Erik as the sort of man who would stop if he saw a turtle in the road and wait several days for the turtle to cross.

"No," Erik said. He frowned down at his phone. "You will never gues whom I rn nnto!" read Charles' most recent text. After that there had not been any messages for a while. The "whom" was the only thing he liked about the message.

\--  
"You had quite the crush on me," Martin said. It was quiet out by the pool. The semi-dulcet tones of late '90s pop came wafting out to them on the breeze from the dance floor.

"Well, I-- I suppose I did," Charles said, gazing pointedly ahead of him. "But I don't -- no hard feelings. You were born that way."

"Actually," Martin said. There was a silence. Charles took a noisy sip of his punch.

"Actually?" Charles said. He felt strangely nervous. He could see where this was headed. _For years,_ he thought. _For years I imagined this. I knew that you'd realize it. I wonder if one day you awakened and realized that no one could recite that much Forster from memory and be entirely straight._

"Actually," Martin said, with a weak laugh, "well, you knew me better than I did, it turns out."

Charles did not look at him, feeling a hand clamp over his lungs. "Well, that's a revelation," he said. "Congratulations." _Well done, Charles._ "I always knew you had it in you." _Perhaps a bit much._ "Not in a, you know, untoward way." _If most conversations were camels, you'd be the man who keeps putting straws on their backs and damaging them._

Martin took another sip of his punch. "Do you hate these glasses?" he said, suddenly. "I think I hate them."

Charles weighed various words. "No," he said. He thought the pause had been too long. "No. You look -- good. Really good."

"Really?" Martin said. Charles looked appraisingly at him. Martin had not changed very much, in spite of the glasses. Charles had spent a great deal of time staring at that face, generally in the course of heated debates. He couldn't remember the pros and cons of opening ANWAR to drilling, but he could tell you which of Martin's eyes had a mole under it. The left. "I never feel right in glasses somehow, you know?" Martin said. "I just don't think of myself with them."

Charles chuckled. "No," he said. "It suits you." The nervous clenching hand in his chest had begun loosening its grip a little. "Well," he said, "look at us. Quite a lot has changed since high school, hasn't it?"

"You haven't," Martin said.

"God, haven't I?" Charles asked. "I'd hoped I had."

\--

Erik paid the driver and did his best not to appear to be running out of the limo. Dignity, he told himself. Yes, that was a bit of a stretch coming from a man who not three hours ago had been wearing an actual plush seal costume and posed in a respectful attitude, gazing wistfully at an eternal flame burning over a seal-shaped headstone (where they'd found _that_ he had no idea), but it did not do to dwell on that. That particular indignity was at an end, and he was going back to find Charles. Charles was not going to be stranded.

Actually that was what he was afraid of. That Charles might not, in fact, be stranded. He scanned the dance floor.

Becky waved.

\--

"I don't think you've changed," Martin said. "You seem -- more self-assured. But you always had it in you. Not in an untoward way."

Charles grinned in spite of himself. "Thanks."

Martin finished his punch and set it down next to his chair. "You know, I've been thinking a lot about you," he said. "After I got my life more, you know, figured out, I kept wondering how you were doing. How your life was. Since you'd figured things out so much sooner than I did."

"I wouldn't say that," Charles said.

"Of course you did, Chuck," Martin said. "You always knew what you liked. Long before anyone else did."

 _No, I didn't,_ Charles thought, feeling something strange kindle at the base of his stomach. _I hadn't met him then._

\--

"Looking for your man?" Becky yelled, barreling over to Erik. He could barely make out what she was saying over the strains of mid-period Christina. "He's outside! By the pool! With Martin Ornstein!"

Erik turned abruptly on his heel and darted for the exit. Dignity, he told himself. But it was all he could do not to break into a jog. _Charles carried a torch for him for all of high school. And they're alone out there by the pool, and there's a moon, for Pete's sake_ \--

When he stepped outside he heard the curiously familiar sound of Charles laughing.

Charles turned at the sound of his footsteps and his face actually lit up. It was reassuring and disconcerting at once. He could tell that Charles was at least one sheet to the wind. There was an exaggeration to his expression that Erik generally associated with trying to prove to the officer how sober you were.

"Erik!" Charles said, standing up. Then Erik had closed the gap between them with two steps and -- he did not think either of them had strictly meant it to happen -- Charles was kissing him, warm and a little imperfect, noses bumping, not long but not quite perfunctory either.

Erik pulled back and grinned. "Hello."

"You made it," Charles said. Erik darted a glance at the blonde man sitting in a deck chair. Glasses. Didn't look like Charles' type. But he supposed he didn't quite know what Charles' type was.

"Martin Ornstein," the man said, standing up. He looked as though he were trying to decide whether to be confused or irritated. His face compromised with an expression that looked rumpled, as though something had slept on it.

"Erik, this is Martin!" Charles said. "We ran the debate club together my junior year."

"Yeah, then Charles here was all fancy-like and graduated on me," Martin said, extending a hand to Erik. His smile was superficially pleasant. "But onward and upward, eh, Xavier? I'm amazed you had time for this shindig, I thought you'd be in Stockholm going 3 for 3 on the prizes."

"Give him time," Erik said.

Martin shot them an appraising look. "So you two are an item, eh? Funny Charles didn't mention you. But rhetorical question, obviously. I guess the Nobel'd be 4 for 4, then. MacArthur, millionaire, succeeded in locating a mate. And give those Swedes time."

Charles laughed. Erik felt a sudden spike of dislike for Martin Ornstein. He'd liked Charles' classmates better when they were drunken grotesques.

"I think the selection committee is actually from a range of Scandinavian countries," he came close to saying, but it sounded stupid even in his head.

"What have you been up to?" Charles asked. Erik reminded himself that there was no good reason to dislike Martin. Other than that Charles actually seemed happy to see him. Other than that they had been sitting here by the pool. In the moonlight. Reconnecting.

"He just made partner," Charles said. "He was telling me."

"Oh," Erik said, a beat late. "Wonderful. Mazel tov."

"Thank you," Martin said. "It's a little overwhelming. Hey, Charles, I'm sorry I didn't keep in touch more. It's really good seeing you. Are you still in the city? We should do lunch sometime."

"Sure," Charles said, sounding a little nervous.

"You'll have to join us too, Erik," Martin said, turning suddenly to him. "What do you do?"

"Erik models," Charles said.

"Models what?" Martin asked. "Like scientific modeling? Economic models? Or very small basilicas made out of matches?" His voice curled unpleasantly around the last phrase.

Now I know why I don't like him, Erik thought. "Clothes," he said.

"Oh, you're a _model_ model," Martin said. "Huh." He looked at Charles. Charles pointedly did not look back at him. "June Weaver said you were dating an underwear model but I thought I misheard her. You know how easy she is to mishear." He had a very quizzical expression that gave his features an ugly cast. "And I said, No way, June. Charles was always an upstairs guy, very cerebral, looks fade, but gotta have the brains, you know, so June, you've got your wires crossed somehow. You know how June always has her wires crossed."

Erik shot him a look so sharp that it would not have been allowed past airport security in a carry-on.

  
Martin ignored him. "No way, I told her," he said. "No way Chuck is dragging some semiliterate Adonis around to events on his arm, you know him, he'd be bored to death in minutes. But looks like the joke's on me. Huh. Evolving tastes."

"I beg your pardon?" Charles spluttered, choking a little on his punch.

Martin turned towards Erik. "This may come as a surprise to you, Erik," he said, "but Charles in high school would never date a guy who could bench a number exceeding his IQ. Exceeding, like the alligator facing towards the number." Martin demonstrated with his hands. "Isn't that right, Chuck? Used to judge books by the contents, not the covers. Though these are nice covers, of course."

Charles was very stiff. When he spoke his tone had acquired several thick layers of permafrost. "I still judge that way," he said. "So I'm afraid lunch is out of the question. Excuse us." He placed a hand in the small of Erik's back and began shepherding him back inside. "And you're right, Martin," he said, turning. "The glasses don't quite work. But it doesn't really matter what covers you put on a -- phone directory."

"Christ, I'm sorry," he muttered to Erik, as soon as they were out of earshot. "And to think I had such a crush on him. A phone directory's too kind. Phone directories aren't -- mean and idiotic. You have more brains in your -- _shorts_ than that twerp will ever -- I can't believe he actually insinuated -- " He was simmering.

"Thank you," Erik said, suddenly. "You know, Martin's not the first to think that."

"God," Charles said, "I'm glad I'm not better looking if that's what happens, that must be abominable."

"It has other advantages," Erik said. "I get faster service at restaurants. I get invited to people's high school reunions."

"Oh," Charles said, looking mortified. "Well. Oh. Erik that's not why -- I mean it -- might have been involved in the decision to invite you, but I -- it's not why I like you, it's -- look." He flushed suddenly, "You happen to come in a lovely edition, but -- I'd still read you if you were, er, a mass-market paperback. God, I wish I'd drunk less." He looked apologetically up at Erik. His eyes were wide and in the moonlight they looked intensely blue. "My analogies are all shot to hell."

Erik had never wanted to kiss anyone more in his life.

"Oh, that's funny," a loud voice said, suddenly, behind them. Erik turned. Somehow his arm had slipped around Charles' waist and neither of them bothered to alter this.

"What, Martin?" Charles said.

  
"How long have you two been dating?" Martin asked. Charles shot Erik a look.

"Just over a year," Erik said.

Martin positively grinned. "I love smartphones, don't you?" he said, brandishing an iPhone. "Mine even has Facebook. No wonder you didn't mention him, Charles. You're lying. Look, personally, I have no objection to bringing hookers to your reunions --"

Erik was not expecting _Charles_ to be the one who hit him.

Martin had not been expecting it either. The punch was not efficient but it had a lot of spirit. It glanced off Martin's cheek, knocking the glasses off his nose. Charles looked irate. It was -- startling and -- a little unnerving and possibly the hottest thing he'd ever seen. The glasses bounced once and landed at the edge of the pool. Charles was flushed and breathing hard and brandishing his fists as though he'd seen the posture on an instructional card.

 _Well._ Erik thought. _All right. I may very well be in love with you._

"I'll tell everyone!" Martin was yelling, holding his face. "I'll let them know that Chucko couldn't even find a real date to bring to this thing! He had to hire one!" Charles stepped to the edge of the pool and brought his shoe down very pointedly on the glasses.

Then immediately he looked intensely sorry. Martin heard the crunch and dove in Charles' direction before Erik had entirely registered what he might be doing. Charles teetered for a moment at the edge of the pool and then landed in it with a splash.

Erik grabbed Martin by the shoulder and hit him squarely in the face. Martin sat down abruptly, holding his nose. He seemed to have no further comments.

"Charles!" Erik shouted, darting over to the pool. "Are you all right?"

Charles emerged, spluttering. "Fine. Fine." He coughed up a little water. "You look so worried." He splashed some water at Erik. "It's actually rather pleasant in here." Then he looked a little chagrined. "Oh, sorry, your suit."

"What did I tell you about my suits, Charles?" Erik asked, untying his shoes, and then he was in the pool and Charles was in his arms and they were laughing.


	14. Chapter 14

"We can't possibly do that in the pool."

"I don't see why not. I can hold my breath longer than you're giving me credit for, Erik."

"Believe me, Charles, I'm giving you credit."

"Then I don't see the objection. There's a moon. We're consenting adults. There's -- late N*SYNC piping in from next door to set the mood."

" _Ruin_ the mood."

"I'd let you fuck me to _polka_ music."

"I will not hold you to that."

"To banjo music."

"Charles."

"Come on."

"The hotel might object."

"'The hotel might object'?" Charles kissed him again, pulling him down into the water. Kissing Charles was different every time -- like a snowflake, except that a snowflake didn't make your pants uncomfortably tight -- and this time was a curious combination of relief and boldness, Charles' tongue parting his lips, the touch self-assured and a little teasing. "Erik, usually it would have required many weeks of dating and several background checks for me to even allow myself to be persuaded and here I am _offering_ \--"

"In a pool."

"In a pool." Charles' legs were wrapped around Erik's waist. The water was deep enough that only Erik could stand. Charles leaned over and ran his tongue along Erik's neck. The boldness in the gesture was intoxicating. Erik made a strangled sound.

"Then in there," Charles' voice was strangely rough in his ear. "Shove me up against the bar. Or there on the deck chairs. Or in the bathroom or -- you have no idea the things I would like you to do to me. I want to feel how big you are. God. I'm sorry, in vino veritas -- well, not vino, puncho -- dear Lord, that was awful -- Tried to text you as much earlier. Phone wasn't amenable."

"Is that what that was," Erik said, feeling his breathing begin to speed up.

"I want you so fucking much, Erik. Evidently. My vocabulary's taking a turn for the Anglo-Saxon." Charles glanced over his shoulders. "How about that towel hut?"

"How about the room?"

"The room's so distant." Charles nearly bit his neck. It was disconcertingly hot. "Don't you want me?" Charles murmured in his ear.

"Charles, you punched a man for me," Erik said, hands sliding down Charles' back to cup his buttocks. "I want to kiss every inch of you. I want to fuck the living daylights out of you. I want to bring you toast in the morning."

Their mouths met again, tongues tangling, Charles' hands gripping his shoulders, Charles emitting a strangled moan into his mouth that bore a faint resemblance to his name. The more Charles did that the more the pool seemed like a good idea.

"You might have to see these people again," Erik said.

"Shut up." Charles brought their mouths together again and Erik ran an appreciative large hand up his back. He had no idea what had happened to their shirts. God, he thought. Perfection. Charles Xavier here tangled around him, as though he had to touch as much of him as possible, Charles a little tipsy and wanton, full of absurd suggestions, making impossibly sexy sounds.

There were footsteps coming and they froze. "Pretend you're a statue," Charles whispered. He actually giggled.

"Shh," Erik said, mouth brushing Charles' ear. Charles' sudden intake of breath was too much. Erik moved his mouth a fraction of an inch and caught Charles' earlobe between his teeth. Charles melted a little and made the kind of sound that Erik wanted to bottle and keep for the winter.

Then he felt a leaf skimmer poking him in the back.

"Out!" a voice neither of them recognized yelled. "Pool's closed."

Whoever it was proceeded to switch off the pool light. They remained together in the darkness a moment.

When Charles next spoke there was a frown in his voice. "All right, then," he murmured. "Perhaps not the pool."

"The room, then," Erik said. "Darling."

  
Charles pulled Erik down on top of him on the bed. Between the door and the bed they had shed the remnant of their clothes.

He was fairly certain he had spotted the hotel bar Gandalf in the elevator. The old man had shot Erik an appraising look and Charles had been unable to keep himself from smirking. Then Erik had shoved him up against the side of the elevator and his thoughts had migrated elsewhere as Erik's tongue plundered his mouth. _God_ , he thought, for the eightieth or ninetieth time, _this is insane, he's splendid, he's marvelous, I'm running out of synonyms, and somehow or other he wants me._

He could not be certain, but he thought the bearded man had shot him a thumbs-up as he and Erik spilled out of the elevator. Well.

Now he reached up and tangled his fingers in Erik's mussed damp hair and brought his face down for a kiss. Erik was kneeling over him, one leg on either side of his torso. Charles could feel the heat in Erik's gaze when he finally pulled back and looked at him.

"Perfection, Charles," Erik murmured, tracing a finger down Charles' chest, toying with a pert pale nipple. Charles moaned a little; the sound was louder than he meant it to be, some combination of the alcohol and the sheer strange wonder of having Erik there, straddling him, shooting him that look that melted into him and settled at the base of his stomach. Erik was making no effort to disguise where he was looking, and the way his gaze raked over Charles' skin made him feel more naked than he had ever felt in his life.

"Stop looking at me like that," he breathed.

Erik leaned in for another kiss, deliberate and slow and thirsty, "Then stop _looking_ like that," he muttered, settling back a little on the bed and beginning to kiss his way down Charles' chest. He traced Charles' nipple with his tongue, and Charles gasped a little.

"Erik," he managed, as Erik's mouth continued its slow pilgrimage down towards the junction of his thighs, feeling the strange urge to babble senselessly. _My God where did you learn to do that you're going to drive me insane if you go any slower_ , and he heard a faint almost whine emerge from his throat. He was uncomfortably hard -- "Erik please" -- and Erik chuckled against his inner thigh and took him in his mouth. "Oh God, Erik," Charles choked. Then Erik looked up at him and the sight of Erik's head between his thighs, dark hair still damp and tousled and Erik's eyes devouring him, was both disconcerting and the hottest thing he'd ever seen. It looked wrong, somehow, and the way Erik was looking up at him as he sucked only intensified the ache in his cock. It was a look with a thousand wicked thoughts burning behind it. It made him eager and nervous at once, spilled over into visions of the two of them in other beds doing things he'd never tried that, things that made him gasp and writhe beneath Erik's sinewy body, things that made him gasp Erik's name and spend himself in strange sheets. It was all he could do not to thrust into Erik's mouth; the sight of Erik's lips stretched around him and Erik's eyes melting into him, the rough brush of Erik's stubble and the slick heat of his mouth and the deliberate slow circles of his tongue were an exquisite and building torture. Charles latched his fingers in Erik's hair, desperately trying not to thrust, and then Erik sped up, finally, with a delightful surge of laughter, and he could feel the beginnings of climax stirring within him, tugged Erik's hair, and Erik didn't stop, if anything went faster, sucking harder, and he felt Erik's rippling chuckle through his entire body. Charles emitted an inarticulate stream of vowels and came, explosively, and then a moment later he'd grabbed Erik almost roughly and brought their mouths together. "God you're good," he managed, at length, pulling his mouth free. "God, Erik." He traced a hand down Erik's chest, coming to rest at the base of Erik's cock.

"Stop looking at it like that," Erik murmured.

Charles laughed. "Do they even make condoms that size?" he asked, after a moment.

  
"I have to order them specially," Erik said, then laughed. "Not actually, but I appreciate the flattery."

"Where do you keep them?" Charles asked. "Wallet or -- or drawer or --"

Erik rummaged in the pocket of his discarded trousers and produced one, still in its wrapper.

"I read an article online about how to do this in a sensual manner," Charles attempted to purr. He frowned. _You just said that out loud, Charles. Yes all right I know, I'm sorry, I can't think in these conditions._ Erik was giving him a look. He had a wild notion for a moment that he was going to open it with his teeth. Instead he managed to tear it open without too much fanfare and roll it carefully onto Erik's length. He grinned weakly. "I don't think that was particularly sensual but it does the job."

"It's sensual when you do it," Erik said.

"I've got --" Charles murmured, flushing suddenly to the roots of his hair, getting up for a moment and rummaging frantically through his suitcase, finally emerging with a faint cry of triumph and a small jar.

Erik laughed. “You seem eager, Charles,” he said, settling back on the bed, arms folded behind his head.

Charles looked at him. _Oh God_ he thought _I want to frame this– you lying in bed and laughing like that, and looking at me like you just opened the box and can’t wait to try out the contents. I want this._ Somewhere at the back of his mind the thought hummed _and I wonder if you’d always look like that, or what your face would look like if we really had been boyfriends a year and this was simply what our nights were like, you settled on the bed waiting for me, there’d be a knowing look instead of that wonder, perhaps – not that I’m actually – God I want to find out_.

He grabbed the jar in one hand and clambered back up onto the bed, straddling Erik’s hips and bringing their mouths together, and Erik’s mouth was hot and a little more forceful, tongue plundering his mouth, Erik’s hands kneading his ass.

“You’re sure?” Erik murmured, after a moment.

“I’m sure,” Charles said.

“All right,” Erik said. “Lie down.” He took the jar from Charles and Charles lay obediently back on the bed, eyes wide, and Erik uncapped the jar and coated his fingers in it and Charles heard a faint gasp of anticipation and realized that it had come from himself.

Then one of Erik’s fingers slid into him, carefully, and his mouth fell a little slack and his breaths started to come faster, and then Erik had slipped another finger in and he was gasping, because Erik had hit _something_ and Erik’s fingers worked inside him as he found himself gasping and writhing on the bed, hips jerking up, trying to force himself onto Erik’s hand, feeling embarrassingly wanton and a little startled _if this is what I’m doing when it’s your hand what in God’s name am I going to do when it’s your cock?_ and he heard himself gasping, “Another, Erik, please,” and then Erik had three fingers in him and he was bucking frantically up off the bed, lost in the symphony of touch.

“Please, Erik,” he managed, and Erik shot him a look that was half desire and half relief and warmer than he was expecting, and Erik murmured, “Here,” and shoved a pillow under his hips and then he was angling himself a moment, Charles could see the curious trigonometry of sex unfolding across his mind, and was about to volunteer, “Perhaps if I –“ but then Erik had caught his legs over his shoulders and he felt the tip of Erik’s cock nudge at his entrance and gasped, “Please,” and then Erik shoved into him.

“Charles,” Erik breathed, and his name had never sounded like that, like the most obscene and holy word he’d ever heard, like Erik actually – and the way Erik was looking at him now – “Charles,” Erik said again, pushing in deeper, and Charles hooked his legs around Erik’s waist and was pulling him in, suddenly desperate to have all of that in him, even though Erik was big enough that it was close to hurting, beyond the curious discomfort and strangeness of having someone _there_ , the peculiar feeling of _fullness_ , but not quite enough, he pulled closer, muttering, “Please,” again, and Erik halted thrusting a moment to trace a hand over his forehead, push the hair out of his eyes, and mutter, “God, you – you look fucking amazing like this, Charles,” and Charles choked out, “Please, Erik, all of you, I want it, please,” and Erik shoved all the way in, and they were panting together, Charles’ feet locked behind his back. Charles gazed contentedly up at him. “Look at you,” Erik murmured. Charles flushed. “God you’re big,” he murmured. “Like having me in you, Charles?" Erik asked, and Charles couldn't help writhing against him a little, murmuring, "More than like, Erik." And then Erik was beginning to thrust into him, and his back was arching because Erik had hit that spot again; he was making undignified noises, and Erik didn’t look startled or annoyed, he looked – elated, as though he’d received impossible good news, as though he could spend all day doing this, as though he could spend the rest of his life doing this – _Don’t get ahead of yourself, Charles,_ Charles thought faintly, feeling curiously dissociated from his body, the body that was melting into the sheets and arching up to meet Erik’s thrusts and flushed and desperate and panting and wanton and – “I’m not usually like this,” he heard himself gasping, “Erik I – I’m – I don’t – oh God oh God – I’m not usually so – vocal, I apol—“

“Don’t you dare apologize,” Erik said, shoving into him again, “don’t you fucking dare—you are the sexiest – fuck – you are fucking gorgeous, you sound gorgeous, you’re perfect –“

“Oh God oh God Erik,” Charles choked, because Erik had found something and he was hard now, again, writhing helplessly beneath Erik, “this – I don’t know what – fuck – I never – God fuck don’t stop don’t you dare stop – I’m not usually this – Jesus that’s good – this – I forget the word--”

“From now on, then,” Erik said, punctuating the words with a thrust that sent the small crew currently manning the fort of Charles’ capacity for coherent thought fleeing south for cover. He found that his fingers were actually clenching in the sheets.

 _People say all sorts of things during sex_ a corner of Charles’ mind began, but he caught sight of Erik’s face and _Good God I think he means it_.

Then Erik slid out of him and he made an embarrassing whimper of protest, but Erik gasped, “if we’d stayed like that I was going to come any second –” settled his hips on the pillow and pulled Charles into his lap and Charles grinned and sank slowly back down onto his cock, gazing hungrily at the point where their bodies meshed, and Erik’s fingers clamped on his waist as he began riding, experimenting with the pace, head falling back as he shoved himself down, eyes widening.

He settled for a moment, Erik all the way in, and grinned down at him. "You feel -- even -- bigger than you look," Charles managed, face damp with sweat, wincing a little.

Erik's fingers tightened on his waist. "Can you take it?" Then they were moving in unison again without Erik’s waiting to hear the answer, his hips thudding into Erik’s.

“Yes,” Charles breathed. “Yes. Erik.”

"God you're tight, Charles," Erik muttered.

Erik shifted them again, settling Charles back on the edge of the bed, thrusting into him, and the new angle made Charles gasp and his mouth fall open and he spent himself, almost without warning, eyes screwing shut, damp hair in his face, painting his own stomach, scarcely caring. Erik’s face constricted a little. “Charles I’m going to,” he muttered.

“Please,” Charles gasped, lost already, and Erik thrust again and he could feel the unclenching and the spasm as he came, and Erik made a strangled sound that he felt curiously certain was his name.

Erik remained inside him a moment and Charles smiled up at him, feeling strangely shy, and pulled him down for a kiss. The kiss was reverent and strangely decorous, it was like a tune you'd only just remembered, and then Erik severed from him reluctantly, slipped the condom off and tossed it into the trash. Charles settled contentedly on one side, feeling very thoroughly shagged.

“You look thoroughly shagged,” Erik said, climbing back onto the bed next to him.

 _Good, we’re on the same page_ Charles thought lazily. “Your fault,” he said.

“Good,” Erik said, settling behind him and pulling both arms around him.

 _If this doesn’t happen again, if this doesn’t happen again every night for the rest of my life, I’ll go insane –_ Charles thought. _I need this. God. I need him. And his huge perfect cock. If we're being honest_.

“Not sure I’ll be able to walk tomorrow,” Charles said.

“Sorry.” Erik didn’t sound particularly sorry. If anything he sounded a bit smug. He was, Charles reflected, entitled to.

He pulled Erik’s hand free from his chest and planted a kiss in the palm. “Thank you. You’re splendid. Thank you for coming back.”

“I couldn’t strand my boyfriend,” Erik said. “And now that I know what you’re like in bed you may never be able to get rid of me.”

“I’m not usually like that," Charles said. "Fewer histrionics." He grinned suddenly. "Histrionics. That was the word."

Erik kissed the word off his lips. "Already dismantling your vocabulary?" he said, and yawned. Charles yawned too.

“Not your fault you're – sex in a can. Or on legs, rather. What I’m trying to say is you’re incredible. You're intelligent. You're magnificent. You're gargantuan. You're the kind of pure bottled sex that makes one realize all adjectives are pointless,” Charles frowned. “See, this is another series of my stupid post-coital remarks.”

“I look forward to all of them,” Erik said. “Good night, love.”

Charles fumbled for the light switch for a moment, trying to quell the sudden bright spike of elation that had rammed through his chest. He settled back into Erik's arms.

“Good night,” he said, “Erik."


	15. Chapter 15

Raven met them at the train station.

The ride home had been uneventful until a few minutes before they'd arrived at the station. The countryside scudded past the window and Charles read one scientific monograph and then pretended to read another. Really he had watched Erik do the crossword puzzle. "I think the theme is silent T's," he volunteered, after a while, leaning over Erik's shoulder. "That could be pterodactyl and that looks like a ptarmigan to me."

Erik grinned. "Where have you been all my Sundays?"

"I might be wrong."

"Doubtful." Erik filled the letters in.

"You do them in pen."

"Hubris." Erik grinned. "Generally winds up an illegible mess. What are you reading?"

"It's mapping the genome of howler monkeys," Charles said. "It's very technical."

"Try me."

 _How is this so easy?_ Charles thought. _How is being with you -- I'm not even straining for witticisms off the hard-to-reach shelves, and you're still enthralled. At any rate you look enthralled. At any rate I can't take my eyes off you._ He began explaining the research and Erik nodded every so often and asked a question that implied he'd actually been following. "You missed your calling, dear," he said, finally.

"Saving it for when I lose my looks."

"I think you'll get better as you age," Charles said, doing his best to pass it off as a casual and objective appraisal. He could tell from Erik's slightly amused look that he had failed miserably. "Like certain cheeses," he added lamely.

"I think it's customary to say 'a fine wine.'" Erik grinned.

"Or a figurine that has been left in its original packaging," Charles suggested. _Ruining the moment, Charles._ "Or --"

"Shut up, dear." Erik looked over at him and the look made his stomach start hopping around as though the floor were suddenly unpleasantly hot. Erik slipped an arm around his shoulders and he forgot what else he'd been planning to say.

"I'm going to miss having someone call me that," he said. "I never thought I'd take to it."

Erik ruffled his hair. "You didn't, Pooky?"

"Shut up." Charles was laughing. "You're the one who came up with Professor Sexavier."

"I stand by that." _God I -- I couldn't possibly ask him. If we were together I'd never get anything done._

There was a silence.

"Charles," Erik said.

"Mm?"

"I assume from the circumstances under which this weekend occurred that you aren't seeing anyone?" Erik asked.

Charles looked over at him. "N-no," he said.

"Neither am I," Erik said.

"Ah." Charles said. "Yes. Well. I knew that -- though it seems inconceivable, given, well, you." _Stop talking_ he told himself. "So that's something we have in common. A shared interest, if you will." _Shut up._ "A hobby."

"Charles, pretending to be your boyfriend this weekend was one of the greatest things that's happened to me in decades," Erik said. His fingers found Charles' and Charles began to feel a strange surge of excitement at the bottom of his stomach. "I'd like to give the real thing a try."

Charles goggled at him. He was trying to form a properly affirmative sentence when a voice he didn't recognize yelled "Erik!"

  
He turned. It was as though someone had been given the assignment decades ago to concoct the most menacingly, precisely perfect specimen of male modeldom in order that he might arrive at this exact moment. He was tall and blonde and angular. He looked as though in the original packaging he had included a fjord. "Erik!" the mysterious figure said again. Erik smiled tightly.

"Congratulations on Calvin," said the terrifyingly Aryan stranger. He glanced at Charles. The expression on his face was not exactly polite. It was a bit puzzled, as though he'd spotted Erik holding hands with a dead mouse. A dead mouse not blessed with a great deal of raw physical magnetism.

"Who is this?" he asked.

"Lars," Erik said -- _of course he's named Lars, I'm sure there's some sort of law where he comes from_ "this is Charles. He's my--" Erik looked at him. Charles had an expression more commonly associated with a deer in headlights who has just been asked a difficult geography question.

 _Wouldn't want him to embarrass himself in front of his people by association_ Charles thought. _Suppose he has a camera. Suppose they post images of us on the internet implying that his faculties are going._ "Charles," he said. "I'm Charles."

"Ah. Pleased to meet you, Erik's Charles," Lars said.

Erik's mouth set itself in a tight line. It was the same _hardening_ Charles had noted before.

Then the train was pulling into the station and there were bags to be moved and jackets to be donned and it was not until they had actually made it off the platform into the station and spotted Raven under the clock that Charles noticed how little Erik seemed to be saying.

"Hello, boyfriends," Raven said.

"Erik," Charles said, "you're completely spectacular -- would you like to do something in the week?"

"Something?" Erik asked. "What?" He set down Charles' suitcase.

"Er," Charles said. "I don't -- I'm amenable to almost anything you'd like -- coffee?"

"Coffee?" Erik laughed a little ruefully. "Bit of a downgrade. I have to --" He gestured off in the opposite direction with a thumb.

Raven was shooting them a worried look.

"Ah, ah, I'll call you, then," Charles said, feeling strangely nauseated. _I was an idiot to think it could be anything, but -- it feels as though he's walking off with my intestine in his back pocket._

"You don't have to," Erik said. Then he was gone. It turned out that he was going the same direction they were. Fortunately he walked faster. Unfortunately the subway train was delayed and they wound up waiting for it a few feet away from each other on the platform, trying to look intensely interested in anything else, as though perhaps if they stared long enough at it the tile might say something interesting. Then Erik was gone.


	16. Chapter 16

"What did you do?" Raven demanded, the instant they got back to Charles' apartment.

"What?"

"What did you do?" Raven yelled. She bore down on him in a fearsome manner generally associated with steamrollers.

"I didn't do anything!" Charles yelped. "This is all your fault. You shouldn't have arranged for him to come this weekend knowing full well that he is completely and exactly everything I require in another human being, Raven! You knew he'd be smart and funny and sex on legs and -- what was I supposed to do under the circumstances? Not fall for him? _You_ spend a weekend with him. _You_ see how easy it is. He looks like a god and he makes math jokes and he's a spectacular kisser and great in -- he ironed my pants, for God's sake, he told me I was _beautiful_ \-- he did the most spectacular impersonation of a boyfriend in the history of the _world_! And when it's over he just walks away. Raven, I'm completely ruined for civilian life! I have tasted perfection for a single weekend, and I will have to go back to dating people without half his brains or half his looks or half his --"

"Cha-rles."

He flushed, "I wasn't going there immediately, Raven, as it appears you were. But that of course too. I'll be walking bowlegged all fucking week and in addition to being uncomfortable it will depress the living daylights out of me, because apparently that's it -- I don't have to call him -- it's over, the bloom's off the rose--"

"Charles."

"He quoted Hobbes! In bed! He told me I was gorgeous and --" Charles' voice broke. "Raven, you did this."

"Charles," Raven said. "I think this is your fault."

"My fault? 'You don't have to call me, Charles'? My fault?"

"Charles, just think for a second, all right? You're generally good at it."

"All right."

"He's been texting me all weekend."

"What?"

"He's -- I would say he's fallen for you too."

Charles shrugged. “Method actor, evidently. Weekend over, game over."

"It's not method acting." Raven skewered him with a look. "Charles, I told him to ask you out. For real. You didn't say _no_ , did you?"

"Are you kidding me?"

"So he asked, you said yes?"

"Well it was more complicated than that," Charles began. "He asked me, but then his friend Lars came over and--" Charles swallowed. "Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. I'm an idiot."

"I thought as much," Raven said.

"You don't need to sound so smug about it," Charles said, sinking heavily down into a chair, then wincing. Raven laughed.

"Call him," she said.

Charles dialed. It rang. It continued ringing. Charles donned a nervous telephone smile. The phone switched to voicemail.

"Erik! Charles," he said. "Could you -- could you possibly call me? It seems I've made a bit of an idiot of myself. I'd very much like to rectify the situation, which I regret with every fiber of my being. I don't know how fibrous my being is, but all of them are joining in the cause. Er. Call me." He grimaced at Raven, then hung up.

There was a silence. They stared at the phone. The phone sat there, as though unaware that this was its cue.

"Call him again," Raven said. "Leave a better message."

This occupied the greater part of Charles' afternoon. The messages grew increasingly despondent. At length an automated voice with a flat cardboard sound to it informed him that Erik's voice mailbox was full.

"That sounds like a weird euphemism," Raven said.

"Shut up," Charles said.

"Geez, Chuck, just trying to lighten the mood here," Raven said, rolling her eyes. "Don't worry. He'll call back."

They stared at the phone some more. The sun set. A siren wailed down the street. It began raining. The apartment next door began loudly playing sad indie music that sounded like it contained too many vowels. A dog howled mournfully outside.

"If there were any more pathetic fallacy," Charles murmured, "this would be a Bronte novel." At the mention of Bronte his voice caught. "If you'll excuse me, Raven, I think I'll go turn out all the lights and cry in the fetal position now."

Raven hugged him. "Don't worry," she said. "If he's as wonderful as you make him out to be, he's smart enough to realize that letting you get away would be the dumbest move of his life."

Charles allowed himself to be held. "I wouldn't be so sure," he murmured.


	17. Chapter 17

Erik spent the afternoon on a long run through Manhattan. It began to rain as he ran back. It seemed somehow apt. Well, if it's any consolation, he thought, you were right. He was exactly what you suspected he might be -- everything you wanted. And for a while it seemed as though he wanted you.

But it wasn't much consolation. When he got back to his apartment he took a long shower and tried not to think about Charles Xavier. It was harder than it looked.

When he emerged someone was knocking on the door. He glanced through the keyhole. His manager.

His manager was short and squat and had a generic face that Erik had difficulty conjuring up when he wasn't in the room. It reminded Erik of Franklin Pierce, in the sense that he also had no idea what Franklin Pierce looked like most of the time. Sometimes he had a mustache. Now was not one of those times.

"Sorry to bug you, Erik," his manager said, "but you weren't picking up the phone, and I have the proofs from the shoot and I wanted you to sign off before they ran with that God-awful seal suit one."

Erik sighed and glanced over them. It turned out that no one looked good in a seal costume. It brought out all sorts of curves he didn't think he actually had. "Exceptional," he said.

"You sure?"

Erik shrugged. "I guess I'm sick of being a sex symbol."

"Okay, stud. Your call. Your funeral."

The man was heading out, past the chair where Erik had tossed his bags and phone. "Also there's the Seal Memorial Gala this Thursday. Need your plus one for the guest list."

Erik sighed. His phone started ringing. His manager picked it up and glanced at it.

"Who's that?" he asked. "He's cute. You should take him."

Erik goggled at the phone. That idiotic picture. Charles sleepy and smiling on the other side of the pillow, hair tousled, eyes puzzled. This, Erik thought. This is what you won't get to wake up to for the rest of your life. He hadn't expected Charles to call quite so soon. By the time he'd moved to answer it was too late.

 _28 missed calls._

"He seems to have called you an awful lot," his manager said. "Can't get enough of the patented Lehnsherr Loving, I assume."

"Please never call it that again," Erik said. He pushed him out and shut the door. "I'll let you know on the plus one," he called.

Within under a minute there was another knock on the door. He frowned and opened it. Raven barreled in doing the best human impression of a swarm of angry hornets he'd ever seen.

"Just what do you think you're doing ignoring Charles' calls?"

"I was jogging."

"Jogging!" Raven snorted. "I told you if you played with his feelings I was going to incapacit--"

"I wasn't!" Erik said. "He was playing with mine!"

His phone rang again. Raven glanced at the screen. "Aw," she said. Then a switch seemed to flick back on somewhere. "That is not the face of someone playing with your feelings, Erik. That is my brother falling head over heels for you. Look at those eyes, Erik."

Erik looked. The phone stopped ringing. 29 missed calls.

"This keeps happening," he said.

"Erik, I don't know what he said or what he didn't say, but I know he wants you," Raven said. "With every fiber of his being. I'm quoting him. Please don't force me to come back here and put the hurt on you."

"Duly noted. Thank you, Raven," Erik said. He picked up the phone and began hunting through his contacts for Charles.

"Okay. Good job. I'll let myself out," Raven said. "Remember. Hurt."

"Yes," Erik said, dialing. The door clicked shut behind her as he waited for the phone to ring.


	18. Chapter 18

Charles was watching a documentary about the mating habits of salmon and, possibly, crying. The camera was slowly zooming in on one determined fish who was trying but failing to leap over a dam. The salmon leapt and fell. Leapt and fell. Charles ate a fistful of cashews and sobbed loudly. "I swear to you," he murmured, "I will come there and construct a salmon elevator for you, with my bare hands. You don't deserve to suffer like this just because of cruel obstacles placed in your way at arbitrary points."

This was when he noticed that his phone was ringing.

"Erik?" Charles said, picking up. He darted over to the television to turn down the documentary.

"Charles?" Erik said. "I can't hear you."

"Sorry," Charles murmured. "Salmon."

There was a bit of a pause. "Ah," Erik said. "Look. I--"

"Erik I'm an idiot," Charles said. "When Lars was there -- I didn't mean I didn't want -- of course I do, I just -- I thought you might be embarrassed."

"You must be an idiot," Erik said, "if you thought I'd be embarrassed to be seen with you."

"He looked at me as though I'd gone bad a few days prior," Charles said.

"That's just how Lars looks," Erik said. "I thought you were embarrassed. When you said coffee I thought it was a diplomatic refusal--"

Suddenly Charles was laughing. "Evidently we're both idiots," he said.

He heard Erik swallow. "Listen," Erik went on, "there's a gala on Thursday in Willy's honor."

"Ah yes, Willy." Charles smiled. He rubbed at his eyes with a hand.

Erik sounded a bit nervous. "I don't know if you're doing something but I'd love for you to come along. As my boyfriend. My _real_ boyfriend."

"I'd love to," Charles said. "Erik, that's -- that would make me happier than anything else in the world."

"Good," Erik said. "Do you have a tux?”

“I have several.”

“Wear one.” There was a pause. “And I'd still be up for coffee,” Erik said. “If the offer stands.”

"When?" Charles asked. "Dear?" And then Erik was laughing too.

"How about tomorrow morning?" Erik asked. Charles could hear the smirk in his voice. "I could make you dinner first."

Charles laughed. "I'd like that very much. Darling."

"Good."

Charles fought the urge to do something cliched like jump up and down and pound his fists and shout "Excelsior!" He wasn't certain if that last bit was cliched or not. The urge was overwhelming.

"And the first order of business," he said, "we'll need to come up with a better story for how we started dating. If we tell people this one they'll never believe it."


	19. Chapter 19

They were at the Seal Memorial Gala standing next to a slowly melting ice sculpture. Erik had not imagined it was possible to look so sexy in a tux.

"Seems a bit odd, as tributes go," Charles said.

"I think it's supposed to be his habitat," Erik said. There was a forlorn-looking rubber seal sliding slowly down the side of the sculpture. The structure, on the whole, looked like the sort of thing Salvador Dali imagined a seal would live in. Erik thought it was unlikely that Willy had had such edgy tastes in architecture. A large chunk of the sculpture broke off and fell onto the tablecloth. "I suppose it's a commentary on the melting of the ice caps," Erik ventured.

Charles laughed. The ability to make Charles laugh like that was something Erik had been pleased to discover came naturally. Erik looked over at him. That one's mine, he thought, a bit lamely. He's coming home with me tonight and I'm going to test the hypothesis that the only thing sexier than Charles Xavier in a tux is Charles Xavier without one.

Charles seemed to notice the look. "What?" he said.

"You look good," Erik said. He thought Charles had to be leaning over the buffet table like that on purpose. His tux jacket had hiked up a little over the ridge of his hip. Those pants fit _perfectly_. It was really unfair. There was so much else in the room to look at and it had become almost physically impossible to tear his eyes away from _that._ And everything that seals ate appeared to be intensely phallic. If one more tray of chocolate-covered cherries on a stick or sausage puffs came along, he was giving serious thought to dragging Charles off by the lapels and taking him in the men's room. "Tuxes suit you."

"You keep saying that," Charles said, grinning.

"I mean it," Erik said. "You look stupendous, Charles."

"I think at this point this has degenerated into a vocabulary exercise," Charles said, glancing over at him. Erik thought he detected the same delighted flash of _That's mine I'm going home with that Good God_ , and when Charles murmured, "You look magnificent yourself, naturally," he was almost certain. "And I enjoyed the toast," Charles said, leaning closer.

Erik chuckled ruefully. "It wasn't my idea," he said. "My manager insisted."

"Well I thought you did him justice," Charles said. "And the cause of seals generally."

Erik frowned. If he was to be entirely honest his short speech was a blur. He remembered Charles' expression as he spoke, rapt and delighted and a bit relieved, as though Charles were perpetually pinching himself. When he'd finished talking Charles had strode over and kissed him, mouth warm and teasing and scarcely chaste, and he'd reciprocated eagerly for a just a moment too long, fingers tangling in Charles' hair. Afterwards people kept coming up and shooting them appraising looks. But Charles Xavier in a tux was undeniable. Erik's hand lingered companionably on the small of his back as they made a circuit of the room.

Now he leaned closer, mouth brushing Charles' ear. "Do you want to get out of here?"

He heard Charles' intake of breath.

Then Charles was actually _beaming,_ if a look that naughty and conspiratorial, that sent his mind reeling towards the gutter, could be considered beaming. "Thought you'd never ask," he said.

Erik slipped an arm around his waist, and then they were out on the corner waving for a taxi. "Not that it wasn't, of course, delightful, and the Bono song seemed basically relevant, and your Calvin Klein colleagues seemed pleasant," Charles was saying. When they fell into the taxi together Erik muttered, "I've been wanting to tear this thing off you all evening, Charles."

Charles laughed. "Yes I somewhat suspected that you did."

 

The ride was very awkward for the taxi driver.

Charles was loosening his tie. _Don’t make eye contact,_ he kept thinking. _If you look at him he’ll know you want him to take you right here in this taxi, and who knows what’s happened in this taxi – all sorts of things happen in taxis -- don't people give birth in these things -- what if someone transported livestock or -- God he looks magnificent, these objections are asinine--_

Erik’s hand slid onto his knee and he couldn’t help turning to look at him, just a moment, and at the sight of Erik's expression, the sort of delighted hungry grin Charles saved for certain pastries, he found himself grinning back, and their mouths came together almost without thinking. The kiss was anything but chaste. When he finally pulled away he was panting and flushed and his mouth tasted agreeably of champagne and canapes and -- Erik. _God I could kiss you all day,_ Charles thought, feeling a little dazed. _Well, not only kiss you-- not if you looked at me like that--_ Erik's hand was straying slowly up his thigh.

“How many more blocks?” Charles asked. Erik seemed to notice the strain in his voice.

“That’s how you made me feel all evening,” he muttered, pulling Charles closer, and then Charles was in his lap thinking, _Sod it, my apologies to the driver_ and his fingers were tracing appreciative lines along the shoulders of Erik’s tux.

“God I want this thing off you,” Charles muttered, and he’d managed to slide a hand up under Erik’s shirt, trace the skin there, thinking – _I’ve never wanted to literally kiss every inch of someone, always struck me as a bit unsanitary, but you, I want to, I want everything_ \-- and Erik was kissing him more hungrily, lips and teeth and tongue, a demanding kiss that kindled something in him, left him very nearly grinding into Erik’s lap like a well-dressed and over-educated teenager.

Suddenly loud country music began to blast through the taxi speakers. Charles nearly jumped. He had not realized New York City had a country station. Maybe this was a CD the driver kept in reserve for occasions like this. It did nothing for the mood. Evidently the singer had lost his woman and his dog in fairly quick succession and it seemed to have ruined his day.

The chorus of the song involved a lot of yodeling.

“You once said you’d fuck me to polka music,” Erik muttered against his neck, and evidently Erik had given up any thought of stopping, because Charles could feel his fingers working at his collar and then Erik was actually unbuttoning his shirt in the taxicab and – the idea that someone was actually desperate enough to get his hands on him – that _Erik_ was – as to be tearing his shirt off in a taxicab to the sound of country music – was making him embarrassingly hard. Not that he'd ever fantasized about this particular scenario. But Erik in any scenario was -- _perfect_ , he thought, _you're perfect_ \-- He grabbed Erik by the face and kissed him harder, tongue foraying into Erik’s mouth, fingers tangling in Erik’s hair and mussing it, and –

The chorus of the song came back on and the driver was yodeling too. At any rate he was making a sound like a cow dying. Charles hoped it was yodeling. If it weren't it might be some sort of apoplectic fit.

Charles turned and glanced through the partition. “Sorry,” he mouthed. The driver did not seem to understand what he was mouthing. He shook his head emphatically. Charles tried to mime, “We will give you a big tip,” but when Erik jostled him and muttered, “Charles, he doesn’t need to know _that_ ,” he sensed that his miming might need work.

 

Erik was trying to slide the shirt off his shoulders when the taxi pulled to a halt, jostling Charles off onto the floor of the cab.

"Oh thank God we're here," Erik muttered, helping him up, and Charles had no idea how he was still self-possessed enough to pay. He noticed belatedly that they had managed to fog the back window.

"I feel like such a teenager," Charles managed, catching Erik's hand as they nearly ran for the building.

"No one did this to you when you were a teenager," Erik said, half-questioning, hauling him up short before they made it to the revolving door and kissing him.

Charles laughed into the kiss. "No."

"Time someone did," Erik murmured, and there was something more direct and warm than simple lust in the tone. Charles kissed him all the way around the revolving door.

\--

Charles' back hit Erik's apartment door with a reassuring _thunk,_ and somehow he had wound up straddling Erik's hips.

"You're the perfect size," Erik muttered, shifting him up against the door and setting to work on his neck. His tuxedo jacket and shirt were lying on the floor looking rumpled and spent.

Charles leaned in and kissed him, hungry and making a faint embarrassing sound into Erik's mouth, and Erik's hands slid down to cup his ass through the tuxedo pants, warm and firm and possessive. Charles grinned at him, "You keep doing that," he muttered. "At the reunion too."

"Not my fault you have a spectacular ass, Charles," Erik said, kissing the side of his neck, and Charles' neck arched a little into the touch. "And I don't see you complaining."

Charles shifted a little against him, already uncomfortably hard. "It goes without saying that you're the sexiest man I've ever met," he muttered, feeling unmoored in the sentence as Erik's tongue traced the line of his neck, "and -- I -- I want to kiss you everywhere -- and -- sod it, I'm rubbish at compliments--" he'd slid a hand between Erik's legs and traced the hardness through the fabric, "God you have a wonderful cock, I was inches away from -- fellating you in the back of the cab."

Erik's eyes were wide and dark and Erik muttered, "For someone rubbish at compliments you've got a way with words," and Charles grinned, "Here, let me," and slid down the door and was wrenching Erik's pants open, and Erik shot him the sort of delighted hungry look that made his stomach dance with the knowledge -- _that's mine that's for me I'm provoking that good God I've never felt sexier in my life than when you look at me_ and he'd shoved the pants and undershorts down to Erik's knees and was planting a line of kisses down Erik's stomach. _Don't goggle,_ he thought, a moment, and Erik's chuckle rumbled against him.

"You're going to get used to seeing it eventually," Erik said.

Charles licked very carefully along his length, feeling his mouth curve into a grin as Erik went rigid beneath him. "Not sure I will," he murmured, tracing along Erik's inner thigh with his tongue, and Erik made a desperate sound that Charles hadn't thought was in his vocabulary and muttered, "You're going to kill me Charles," and Charles grinned up at him and murmured, "Just savoring the moment, darling," and then his mouth was on him, lips stretching into an obscene O, making a faint appreciative sound in the hollow of this throat, and Erik's fingers were tangling in his hair, something warm in the touch for all the desperate rush of it, and he was sucking, finding a rhythm, taking a little more in at each go, running a hand along Erik's shaft, and Erik choked out, "God -- Charles -- God -- stop -- you have to -- I'm going to -- I want to come fucking you," and Erik's fingers had found his jaw and traced a caress along his chin. His mouth came free with a faintly obscene pop and Erik couldn't suppress a whimper. "You're insanely good at that," he muttered, as Charles got back to his feet. "Mind-blowingly good. And you, like that -- sexiest fucking thing I've ever seen, Charles."

  
Their mouths came together again, almost roughly, Erik's tongue plundering his mouth. "Jesus Christ," Charles was murmuring, scrabbling at the fastenings of Erik's shirt and gasping a little as Erik leaned down and bit a kiss into his neck, "how on earth -- are there -- so many -- fucking -- buttons -- this is _criminal_ "

"Fuck," Erik gasped. "Charles." And they were kissing again and it was sloppy and hungry and there was an edge to it that Charles couldn't get enough of, it wasn't the way you kissed when anyone might see you, Erik's tongue was fucking his mouth and he was letting out a faint hungry moan and --

"God I want you," he managed, pulling free a moment, panting, eyes wide, and Erik's mouth brushed his ear and Erik said, "Charles you have no idea," and the words rumbled warmly through his whole body, Erik kissing the side of his face, and then Erik said, "Here," and Charles latched his arms around Erik's neck and Erik lifted him and marched them very deliberately into the bedroom over the pile of fallen clothes and deposited him on the bed, and the moment after his back hit the sheets, when Erik was staring down at him like that, as though he wanted to frame this, Charles smiled up at him and thought _I have to start volunteering at a soup kitchen, I have to get up early and jog -- I must help old women cross streets -- I -- my God -- I must do something to deserve this, you're perfect, look at you --_ and then he'd sat up and pulled Erik down on top of him and kissed him, warm and a little less frenzied, and murmured, "Erik thank God this is happening," and Erik leaned down and kissed him, warm and thoughtful too, and then Erik's grin was back and Erik's hands were tearing at his pants.

A few moments later there was a mercifully naked Erik Lehnsherr kneeling over him and he traced a finger up the inside of Erik's thigh and muttered, "That was the longest taxi ride of all time," and then Erik had caught him up in his arms and they were kissing hungry and frantic again, as if they'd been holding their breath the whole time, and Charles was gasping, "I want -- fuck -- everything, Erik, I want to kiss you for hours -- I want you to fuck me into the mattress until the neighbors file a noise complaint and--"

Erik's eyes were very wide and Erik muttered, "Only you could manage to make a noise complaint sound like the sexiest thing I've ever heard," and bent down and kissed him, rough and hungry and making Charles gasp, and Erik said, "Lie back," and Charles reached up and kissed him once more, soundly, and complied, settling on his back as Erik began to kiss his way down his chest.

"Should I get the light?" Charles asked, and Erik shot him the sort of look that you generally gave someone who'd just announced that he was the Emperor Napoleon and could tell you how they faked the moon landing.

"Don't," Erik said, looking up at him, planting a kiss on his stomach, and -- _How,_ Charles thought, _how do you make me feel so naked, just looking at me like that_ , "I love watching you," Erik said quietly, settling between Charles' legs, mouth brushing the skin behind Charles' knee, and Charles' breaths started coming fast and shallow and Charles spread his legs almost without thinking. Erik slid a pillow under his hips and shot him a suggestive grin whose meaning was impossible to make out, like a naughty passage in a foreign book, and then Erik began kissing his way along Charles' thigh and Charles shuddered and choked out, "I thought you were above that sort of petty retribution," eyes squeezed shut, waiting for Erik's mouth, but Erik's mouth didn't -- and then he realized exactly what Erik had in mind and the sheer thought of it made him gasp and shift a little on the bed, and Erik murmured, "For someone with so many degrees, Charles, even you can be obtuse--" and Charles felt a curious tangle of emotions -- vulnerable and unbearably aroused and the only thing that was absolutely unthinkable would be for Erik not to. "Please," Charles said, and his voice sounded almost unfamiliar, thick with lust. "Fuck's sake, Erik, it's hard to think when I've got the world's most gorgeous man between my legs."

  
"When you ask like that," Erik said, and then he felt Erik's tongue tracing careful circles along that intimate zone of skin, and when Erik's tongue teased into him his hips bucked forwards as if tugged by an invisible cord. Erik made a faint satisfied sound and that was when Charles lost any semblance of control, gasping, feeling himself opening up under the touch, just enough to be maddening and obscene and perfect and -- _how is he so good at this how is he so good at everything--_ feeling startlingly open and helplessly aroused and -- God --

"Erik -- fucking Christ -- you have no -- idea what you're doing to me," he was gasping, and -- it was too good, it was tormentingly good, but it wasn't nearly enough, Erik's tongue was a delicious torture, he wanted more, could still feel the ghost of that immense cock, and he heard himself starting to beg -- "More, Erik, please -- God -- I have to have more of you, want your cock, I've barely been able to -- fuck, Erik -- sit down for days, I could feel you every time I sat down -- fuck I want you again -- Jesus Christ you're good at that."

Erik pulled free and looked at him and Charles began to crawl bonelessly towards the bedside table and to fumble in the drawers. "This bed is enormous, Erik," he managed. "It's probably double the size of the Vatican."

"Should I be alarmed that that makes you think of the Vatican, Charles?" Erik said, finding the one drawer Charles hadn't, fishing out a condom and tearing it open.

Charles laughed. He collapsed back on the pillow and fondled Erik's arm as he rolled the condom on. "Erik, you're fun to have in bed. Has anyone told you?"

"Repeatedly," Erik said, and Charles kissed the smirk off his lips.

"How do you want me--" Charles asked, and Erik muttered, "Any way I can have you, Charles," and Charles settled on his knees, gripping the headboard, and a moment later he felt the reassuring bulk of Erik against his back, and Erik said, "I think you still need--" and was sliding a finger into him, but it was becoming impossible to hold out any longer--

"I can take it," Charles said, and his voice sounded thick and desperate again. "Please, for the love of God."

And then Erik's hands were on his hips, holding him steady, and Erik slid into him, slowly at first, and one of Charles' hands found Erik's and clasped over it, and Charles was gasping at the commingling of pain and ecstasy that melted quickly into ecstasy as Erik found a rhythm and shoved all the way in, and Charles let out a little moan of satisfaction and Erik pressed a kiss into his neck, murmuring, "God Charles, you're practically pornographic, I love watching you take it," and Charles shoved against him, feeling full and delighted and Erik slid a hand around his waist to his cock, beginning to pump in time to his thrusts, and Charles was gasping, "Erik -- God -- you're so fucking good, I -- I'm going to wake you up with a blowjob tomorrow and every -- fucking -- morning of your life," and Erik panted, "I'll -- hold you to that," and then Charles could feel the unclenching of Erik's release beginning, thrust all the way back against him and clenched and Erik made an obscene and beautiful sound as he came. Charles turned and kissed him.

In a few minutes he'd soiled a small section of the sheets and Erik had grinned and shrugged, "That's your side anyhow." When sleep came it found them tangled in each other's arms.

\--

In the morning Charles woke up and glanced over at Erik and propped himself up on an elbow and smoothed some of the hair away from Erik's face and then grinned and lifted the sheet and slipped under it.

\--

"I don't even know how you like your eggs," Charles was saying, laughing, sticky, triumphant, still locked in Erik’s embrace.

"Scrambled," Erik said. "But honestly, Charles, that's hardly a good litmus test for knowing someone. Can you name the way anyone else you know likes his eggs?"

"Raven likes hers Benedict," Charles said. He frowned. "Beyond that, no, I suppose I can't."

"What else would you like to know about me?" Erik asked.

Charles shrugged. "Anything," he said. He traced a finger along Erik's collarbone. "Everything, eventually. What about me?"

"I already know what you were like in high school," Erik said. "That'll do for a start."

"Is this your life?" Charles asked, propping himself up on an elbow. "A constant stream of ruined tuxes?"

"Only since you," Erik said.

"Sorry."

"Don't apologize," Erik said, planting a kiss on his shoulder. Charles melted a little into the touch. He sensed that Erik was making some sort of mental note.

"This is an awfully nice way to wake up," Charles said, after a moment.

"And you weren't even on the receiving end," Erik said, tugging him back into his arms. They both sighed contentedly. Then Charles started laughing.

"What?"

"All of this," Charles said. "It's the most cliche thing that's ever happened to anyone."

"I think there are one or two Lifetime movies willing to fight you for that title," Erik said.

Charles laughed.

"I love your laugh," Erik said. "I love hearing it in my bed in the morning."

Charles kissed him. "We ought to get Raven a fruit basket," he said, after a moment.

"A fruit basket doesn't begin to cut it."

"We ought to erect some sort of statue in her honor."

"Perhaps a medal of some kind."

"Ice sculpture."

"We ought to have someone sign an affidavit promising never under any circumstances to carve an ice sculpture of her."

Charles grinned. "That's closer."


	20. Epilogue

Charles awoke to the sound of Erik singing in the shower. It was extremely loud and wildly off-key. It sounded like the mating call of something that had gone extinct millennia ago, probably because its mating call was too mortifying to utter under most conditions.

Charles still thought it was -- cute wasn't the word. Somewhere between tolerable and actively amusing.

"Morning," he shouted.

The shower stopped and he heard Erik toweling off, whistling. "Morning," Erik said. He stuck his head out of the bathroom. "What are you up to this weekend, dear?"

"Nothing I'm aware of. Hiding from the florist."

Erik nodded sympathetically. "Well, it's my fifteenth reunion, apparently."

Charles grinned. "Are those a thing?"

"Apparently."

"I'd be honored," Charles said.

"If you think they're too awful I promise we'll leave."

"It can't be worse than meeting your grandmother."

"Few things are."

"I think I'm growing on her." Charles grinned. "Like that green fungal stuff that grows on bread."

"That's probably how she'd describe it." Erik stood a moment, toweling his hair off, pondering. "She only believes in fiances with two e's. But she did send me a newspaper clipping the other day with you in it, and she'd only crossed out two things in red pen. And I think she's stopped sending me the reports of debutantes."

"You see? Progress."

"My mother loves you." Erik grinned and tossed the towel at him. "She may prefer you, in fact. The other day she called the apartment and I answered and she said, 'Oh, hello, Erik, nice to hear your voice, is Charles there? Could you put me on with him?'"

"You didn't tell me that," Charles said, tossing the towel back. "Sorry about that. I can sow discord, if you'd like."

"I think it's funny."

"You're sure?"

"I'm sure. I want her to love you. Everyone ought to. I do." Erik hung the towel up and sat down on the edge of the bed. "Come here."

Charles climbed over and kissed him. "I do too."

"Love yourself?"

"Love you. Idiot."

"Good." Erik stood back up and started getting dressed. "Also I don't know how to tell you this but the caterer seems to have left eight messages."

"Good Lord."

"I don't know what about. I'm terrified."

"Perhaps we could delete all of them and just have pizza at the reception?"

"That's starting to sound like the best plan."

"If I have to audition one more canape I'm going to shoot something."

"We should have known from the fact that he referred to it as 'auditioning canapes' that he was not the one to hire."

"He seemed passionate," Charles said. He climbed over to the nightstand and found Erik's phone. "I'll listen to them if you want."

"You're a mind-reader."

Charles settled down on one elbow. "If the florist calls you're handling her."

Erik turned and grinned, buttoning his shirt. "What sort of fiance do you think I am?"

Charles deleted a message whose first words had been, "I awoke at 3:04 AM with an inspiration about the crab dip" and grinned at him. "I love you."

"Let's keep reminding ourselves of that as this thing approaches."

"If nothing else the reunion will get us out of everyone's way," Charles noted, deleting a third message. "These things, they say, are about everyone else anyway."

"As long as they don't put up any ice sculptures in our absence."

"That's Raven's entire role in the wedding," Charles said. "Maid of honor, and preventing ice sculptures."

Charles deleted another message ("I am besotted with the potential of quail and melon"). "You know I wouldn't do this for anyone else," he said.

"Do what? Marry me?" Erik asked. "I'd hope not, Charles."

Charles got up, deleting a fourth message, and slipped his arms around Erik as Erik finished tugging on his pants. "You know what I mean."

"I know," Erik said, and kissed him.


End file.
